One Fine Day

I will go back to Paris with the man I love.
And he will want to go to Paris whether or not he likes Paris.
He will want to go because I love Paris and because he loves me.

The Quiet City: Winter in Paris

(Photos taken during my last trip in 2007. I shall return.)

"Each divorce is the death of a civilization."

http://mightygirl.com/2012/06/26/divorce-and-grief/

I was a wife, and now I’m not.

The product is so much cleaner than the process. And in the beginning, this is how I thought of divorce. Discrete, an event. So I waited for it to be over.

There were mundane moments of suffering — my thumb would feel for my missing wedding band, I’d overfill the teakettle, or be half-asleep and bewildered to find only a single toothbrush near the sink. Every time, the surprise of it was clarifying, a series of breathtaking realizations. I moved the tissue box from room to room.

Beyond these details there was a progression of endings — moving out, quitting therapy, getting a lawyer, signing papers — all of it mounted toward the final goal. But each milestone passed without much change in my feelings. The finish line I imagined was in motion. Slowly I came to understand that divorce wasn’t so much an event as a death.

The distinction is crucial, for two reasons. First, because we have fewer expectations of when we’ll recover after a death. We understand that feeling normal again is more a function of time than effort. Second, because we have better tools for coping with mourning than with divorce. There’s a protocol of care, we forgive outbursts, moments of insanity. And if we’ve lost someone, perhaps we go easier on ourselves.

I did not go easy on myself. The grief eclipsed me, and embarrassed me. And thinking of it as an event only increased my suffering. When each phase found me still mourning, I worried that I would never be myself again.

Pain and confusion aside, just the paperwork seemed insurmountable. It was easy for me to get caught up in logistics and mistake them for the journey. Once you’ve taken actions A-Z, you are no longer married, and you get your life back.

Except, as with a death, once everything normalizes it doesn’t resemble your life anymore. The plans you’d made, the things you’d thought settled, are blown apart.

Now I’m no longer a wife, but the afterimage of that identity remains. Sometimes my habits still bend to accommodate the preferences of a person who isn’t there. I don’t know how long it will last, only that I don’t need a finite date anymore.

Divorce has changed me, matured me, perhaps more than marriage did. Now I know that our loneliest moments are some of the most universal.

If you’re going through a divorce, try not to worry so much about when everything will end, just know that it will. You’ll get through it, and there’s so much possibility waiting on the other side.

For those of you who have gone through it, when did you start feeling better? Did your thinking about the divorce process change over time? Advice appreciated in comments.

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A reader's comment:

I got married 8 years ago today, and divorced 6.5 years ago. I sobbed my way through yoga last night because sometimes, it still hurts so acutely.

I think that one thing that was difficult for me, as a generally Successful Person, was that it felt like a failure. I felt like I’d failed someone else, and I felt like I failed myself. Being a divorcee didn’t jive with the notion I had of who I was.

And you’re right on that it’s like a death. It’s the death of the life you shared, but it’s also the death of the hopes, dreams and plans you’d made as a couple or family. I remember thinking that I’d never do some of the things we’d planned (travel, have a baby in a certain year, etc.) and some of that was hard, but once I felt a little better, I was able to make some of those dreams happen for myself, albeit differently.

I remember that about three months after we’d split (and my ex has chosen to never speak to me again, btw) I came out of the gym, and picked up my phone to call him and tell him what I wanted on my salad for dinner that night, as was our Wednesday night custom. The forgetting and simultaneous remembering hurt so badly, and I remember sobbing to a friend that “there would never be someone who’d go get my salad and know what I didn’t want on it again.” And sometimes, it felt like no one would ever know me that intimately again.

At first, I set tiny goals for myself each day: wash sheets, make cookies, don’t lay around and cry. And after a few months, that became unnecessary. There is no deadline of when you will feel better, and sometimes, even years later, the pain does kind of take you by surprise. But you WILL feel better. You will adjust to a new normal, you will learn surprising things about yourself and your strength and you will recover. Divorce made me more sensitive to myself and to others.

If I can offer one piece of advice, it’s don’t punish yourself. I’ve spent far too long punishing myself for what I could or could not have done, not just in my mind but in the way I’ve treated myself. I regret that time period, because the truth is, I don’t know if anything I did or said could’ve saved the marriage. I am still learning to be nice to myself.

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An article that tore into me.

The greatest fury comes from the wound where love once issued forth. 

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No, we weren't married. But in my heart we sorta kinda were. After fifteen years (longer than some marriages) it sure felt like it. So much so that I was getting seriously nutty. Crazy-person-on-Facebook-crazy.  And then I remembered this place. Where I can write and the wind can catch it. Or let it go.

Dylan is saving me. Joni is saving me. Tori has always been with me. It's this ebb and flow of grief, of doubt, that kills me. My poor kitchen sink, witness to so many breakdowns. My orange rubber shoes and my blue yoga mat, a place for peace and endorphins. 

Making the bed without anyone on the other side to tug at the covers. 

Feeling for a ring on my left ring finger. (Why oh why did I get used to putting that there?)

Wondering what I'm supposed to do with all these men's clothes and shoes and socks and jewelry and TVs and all this shared property.

It's only been a month and three days, I tell myself. That's why you're climbing the walls and crawling into wine bottles. 

One day there will be peace. One way or the other. 

Sometimes you have to forget what you feel and remember what you deserve. - Unknown

Food for thought.

(That might get me stoned to death by the angry mob.)

http://pisceschick.wordpress.com/2011/05/29/single-vs-married-women/