The Big BaD WorD

Growing up, “divorce” was always such scary word to me- I remember clearly in elementary school hearing that a friend’s parents were separating, and I was horrified. To utter “divorce” in the society I was raised in was on par with the most offensive curses, and its syllables were always conveyed in hushed, appropriately disapproving tones. The pervading, unquestionable impression that divorce always seemed to give was one of failure and ultimately ruin; it was a breakdown of a family, of traditional values, and perhaps even the collapse of our entire comfortable society as we knew it. I certainly didn’t envy the children of divorced parents− like many, I wondered if these peers of mine were perhaps disturbed or, even worse, misfits as a result of their experience.

Such is the conceit that breeds within a primarily upper-middle class religious community like the one that I grew up in, and I languished in it. Divorced families and their children were broken, and the parents had failed to honour their commitments. They’d given up, or hadn’t tried hard enough, and obviously didn’t understand the work that a good marriage takes. Rarely did I witness sympathy for the divorcees, and even less often for the wife in question; the widespread belief was either that she’d “abandoned” her partner and deserved no such compassion, or that she’d simply failed to keep him sufficiently happy and had forced him to leave.

It took my own marriage ending for me to realize that my arrogance did not make me invulnerable. I was shocked and devastated as I watched it crumble, and I tried to the point of exhaustion and depression to save it. Our breakup made me question my own capacity for commitment and my real motivations; no one could have grilled me as rigorously and ruthlessly as I grilled myself. And in horror, it also made me aware of my previous disdain towards divorcing couples, or my surprise (and perhaps glee) over the years when a celebrity relationship broke down the middle. After all, tabloids are always more exciting when there’s a couple separated by a large rip across the cover. To many, divorce is entertainment in the same way a scary movie is, because it allows us to witness our deepest fears without them actually touching us. Until I split with my husband, I’d never realized those fracturing couples were real people rather than characters.

My own divorce process has also helped me to see that expressing shock at a couple’s separation is tactless at best and ignorant at the worst. After all, it’s like starting a book on the last page and saying that the ending surprised you. Why do we all assume that we should have seen it coming? Regardless of how close you are to a couple, you are not owed a timeline of their progress (or lack thereof). They are not required to fight in front of you, or attack each other on a more public forum so that you’re prepared for a divorce announcement. They don’t need to publish a transcript of their arguments for your reading pleasure. There is no law that says a couple must broadcast the gradual breakdown of their marriage, nothing that requires them to hold up the quilt and show all the widening holes so you more easily accept the inevitable unraveling.

Because that’s one thing I’ve learned about separation and divorce; there are no rules, and there’s no guidebook for how to survive it (“Divorce for Dummies” doesn’t count). All I have to lead me in life is my heart and my instincts, that fierce pull forward, an extension of my intestines that guides me even when I’m stumbling blindly through the dark. I might fall along the way, and I’ll certainly suffer, but I can’t let go of what I know to be my truth and live someone else’s so that I’ll receive acceptance and approval. Point blank, I refuse to wear a dress that makes me uncomfortable simply because other people say it looks nice. And I will not allow others to tell me that our separation is a tragedy either; while it may be distressing in the short-term, allowing a garment to suffocate me so that I can meet others' expectations is a far sadder story. 

Divorce, I’ve realized does not indicate failure, but instead an ability to recognize when something is no longer serving you. It’s self-awareness, honesty, and respect not only for the person you are but also for the person that you strive to be. It’s the deepest type of self-love that there is because it requires undergoing enormous sacrifice and suffering without losing sight of why you’re tearing yourself apart. It’s a gruelling quest in the pursuit of true, unfettered happiness, and I can’t be ashamed of that.

All I can do, all anyone experiencing this can do is to hold fast to the things that make us joyful, and to let go of the things that don’t. And so I will pour myself into my children, and the friends and family who’ve stood beside us not in condemnation but as a crutch. I will breathe deeply, and cling fiercely to my optimism, and believe in love even when I have every reason not to. I will do my best not to judge others experiencing this painful uncoupling, and I will acknowledge that I haven’t read their story; my support will not be conditional on whether they’ve confided in me. And most importantly, I’ll have faith and commitment; faith that following my heart is the right thing to do, and commitment to being the happiest, most complete version of myself that I can be. Believe it or not, as I’ve recently learned, those qualities aren’t simply reserved for those still bound in matrimony.