Why Didn’t I Rush to Get a Divorce?
5 Reasons Explained
If I was a battleship, he was a dive bomber. The marriage therapist’s office was Pearl Harbor. Date: December 7, 2020. A day that will live in infamy.
A study on the devastating Pearl Harbor attack revealed more than one warning had been disregarded. In particular, the young privates who were on lookout duty reported the biggest radar blip moving towards the harbor.
Don’t worry, said the commanding officer. 40 minutes later, Pearl Harbor was in flames. The death toll and injuries numbered over 3,400 people.
The analogy I realize is a stretch when comparing the Pearl Harbor attack to the moment I learned about my husband’s affair. After all, I was the single major casualty, right? But there was also plenty of collateral damage done as well.
I could relate to the surprise element too, made even more painful given my blindness to the warning signs I failed to act on.
Don’t worry, I would tell myself. It’s not that bad.
It was that bad.
The bomb dropped on me was by the man I had loved and trusted more than any other person.
So why did it take me the better part of a year before I took action?
Let’s go back to Pearl Harbor. Some ships were damaged beyond repair. Others were salvageable and returned to service. Pearl Harbor itself was a mess as well. The USS Arizona sunk and began its slow hemorrhage of oil into the ocean, continuing today and for many years into the future.
How does one repair a soul? Much less return to service? Will my soul continue hemorrhaging like the USS Arizona? Should I armor up and return fire? File for divorce and when?
The shell shock alone immobilized me for several months. In order to sort things out, I separated from him and moved a few hours away. We continued therapy via Zoom or when I drove up to have sessions in person.
The distance was helpful. While living alone was frightening to me, the freedom of not walking on eggshells soothed the fears. I also knew it would buy me time to sort out the next step.
The years have taught me that decision making in a sandstorm is never a good idea. I didn’t want to knee jerk my way to divorce.
Strangely enough, communication between us improved for a short while. But that conversation was on the nuts and bolts of divorce. If you observed us in a coffee shop discussing this, you would have thought we were just another old married couple navigating life together.
Perhaps it was because we had to be objective discussing terms of divorce. We looked at social security records and discussed the division of assets. I had to keep my blinders on while discussing this because it felt so surreal. Like a slow waking nightmare.
When I settled into my place, I took stock of the reasons for either staying together or calling it quits. If we were going to end a 32-year marriage, I wanted both eyes open.
These are just a few of the considerations that guided my action.
First, I realized the hope for change and healing was in the magical thinking category on my part. I would cling to a brief spark of hope occasionally, but those moments were short-lived. One of the most gut-wrenching experiences of the entire process was releasing him from any expectations. I acknowledged I could not change him. All I could do was change myself and how I would respond to issues.
Along this vein, I had to accept that I could no longer trust him. He had betrayed my trust in multiple ways and if we stayed together, it would be on me to continue with the ongoing worry of him straying again.
Something finally clicked in me though when he says something like, “I don’t know if I love you or her.” (Spoiler alert, as it goes for most affairs… the relationship with the affair partner didn’t last.)
Financial instability was a huge fear. I told myself I could make it on my own but the reality was, I was terrified. In divorce, the stay-at-home mom usually gets totally fucked over. Not having a pension and a pitifully small social security income added to the terror.
If a marriage is longer than 10 years, the former spouse may receive HALF of the major breadwinner’s social security. If his SSI is a hundred bucks, I am entitled to fifty. Evidently, as a woman, my needs are less.
The job market wasn’t looking so rosy nor were my prospects for organizing work, given the COVID shut down. A COVID loan further saved my bacon.
Five weeks after the divorce, I was diagnosed with breast cancer in both breasts and spent much of the year in treatment. It was only through the kindness and generosity of friends that kept the lights on.
To continue my economic survival, I sold the place at the end of treatment and lived on that money as long as I could. (Talk about fun. Packing up your house while your hair is shedding due to chemo.)
But hey! Just two years before I qualify for SSI. Oh, wait…. 😉
The fear I had of living alone was more difficult in my imagination than in the reality. The solitude and a conflict-free environment did wonders for my healing.
Living alone also gave me an opportunity to rediscovery new abilities and become more confident in different areas. With help from YouTube and/or a few phone calls, I developed more handywoman skills. Madskills? Nah. But enough that I know I can figure out a lot of shit on my own.
My belief around marriage was a biggie and it took more than a few therapy sessions to gain a new perspective. Realizing that “til death do us part” also applies to the death of a relationship was both freeing and profoundly sad.
I had already left organized religion several years earlier, but my belief around the sanctity of marriage remained. It was profoundly difficult to release. But release I did. Do I still wince occasionally when I reflect on the divorce? Damn straight I do.
I am especially grateful for the Spiritual Direction Program I was in during this period. Over the course of the two-year program, my loving cohort- which included a few nuns — supported me through every step of the way. They even tolerated my cussing. (I think my “F-bomb” meter eventually broke after the needle got buried in the red zone from overuse.)
Finally, how would divorce affect our three kids? Not only did they no longer have a physical home to return, any stability from mom and dad bit the dust. And then there was the added burden of infidelity. Would they feel like they need to ally with either him or me? Will I be the fall guy if he shit-talks me to them? (I have my suspicions.)
When I first learned of the infidelity, my initial response was to keep it secret. I wanted to spare them any emotional pain it might cause. Nor did I want it to damage his relationship with the kids.
But I quickly realized this was not a good idea. It would totally put me in secret mode as well. I was done with lies and secrecy. I also felt the kids deserved the truth because, like me, if they found out later, the ramifications would only increase.
Additionally, I wanted them to understand why I filed and not leave them to draw their own conclusions. They had already seen the tension build between us during our final years together, but the infidelity brought an extra load for them to process.
None of these considerations were black and white. Processing through them is especially difficult because one of the horrible things about being on the receiving end of infidelity is the blow it gives to your sense of self-worth. And after being bamboozled for so long, I had trouble learning to trust myself again.
I ponder the USS Arizona and the oil drip, aka “black tears” that will continue for generations. It is a befitting memorial to the sailors who perished that day, forever entombed in its watery grave. And it serves to remind us of the terrible price of war.
It also reminds me of the choices I can make as I continue to heal. I can have a slow drip of bitterness. Or I can allow God’s transformative grace to turn my “black tears” into a steady stream of forgiveness and love.
In either war or divorce, damage is done on both sides, regardless of the aggressor. And while I will never understand what pain drove my former husband into a hell of his own making, I offer forgiveness.
And in the spirit of ho’oponopono, (a Hawaiian ancient forgiveness technique), I forgive myself too.
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