No one talks about the aftermath. No one teaches you how to deal with the part of divorce, where you no longer exist in your past world, and you haven’t set foot in your future life. The black hole where you are made to survive, with no identity, where your entire being is consumed bit by bit.
Divorce is a separation of a union, but it matters little during separation how strong that union was. Two people who lived a life together, made up a family, are torn apart and must learn to function alone. It’s much easier said than done. Somehow, you begin to convince yourself that it was perhaps ok to have somebody around, even if they were abusive, than to maneuver in silence and become a prisoner of seclusion. We were never meant to embody a life of isolation.
The very time I was fighting against, I gained in abundance. The very peace I longed for was now encompassing me. The endless nights, the fear of facing another day, began transitioning into secluded, silent mornings. Everything seemed unreal after the fact. It felt unreal until I held that paper in my hand that confirmed the death of my marriage. It confirmed how over half of my life, as I knew it, had come to a screeching halt.
I wondered what advice I would give to other people. The same advice was repeated to me. Yes, you should save your marriage, work on it a little more, but not everyone’s story is the same, and not all marriages can be saved. The grass does seem greener on the other side, but sometimes it’s just greener where you water it. I had nothing left to nurture, and so bit by bit I lost the will to try, and I began to hate life.
I was the one who thought divorces only happened in the first few years to people who thought they were madly in love with each other, but made a mistake. I wasn’t accustomed to, nor did I even comprehend, that divorce didn’t have an age limit. My marriage became a prison cell; I had done a life sentence. I dragged myself out of prison, just like an inmate, exhausted, carrying a few belongings, squinting at the first sign of daylight. How was one to survive outside those four walls? There was no one to greet me, nor did I know where I was supposed to be. The entire world had changed while I was held prisoner.
When I got the news that I was officially divorced, I didn’t feel anything, not elated nor happy like I thought I’d feel. Instead, I felt empty and exhausted as if I was mourning death. Even if you are relieved and finally free, behind those closed doors, everyone mourns a little. There is an unspeakable part of this journey that questions your decision, a part you must endure alone in silence.
No one told me I’d have to transition into the next phase completely alone. Yet there I was, fine-tuning my every move as if it were a win-or-lose situation. Never did I imagine that I’d see that day. An exact copy of my first day at school. A duplicate of that same fear. Whom do you trust, and do you ask for help? Which corridor to which classroom? Eating alone and walking home alone. The difference? No one is waiting for me now, no one was going to hold my hand, and not one person was experiencing my journey, so who would guide me? I became a vulnerable mess.
You begin a slow descent into depression. You’re ok with not being seen or heard. Not because you’re not important, but because you somewhat failed. Everyone left the show, and you have to gather yourself together and drive into unknown territory. I was stamped with a new name; I no longer belonged with the crowd. It took a great deal of courage to walk a path that I didn’t know existed. It was peculiar that no one talked about divorce in detail, as if it were an incurable disease. People felt sorry for me, but no one wanted to share their experience. I was left to it.
And so, like everything in life, what comes must go. This phase doesn’t last forever; it’s part of another cycle that society has bound us with. Something that, for the most part, dictates your place, legally, but threatens you emotionally, just like marriage. I came far enough to realize I had two choices: I either wandered around sympathetic to my lost world, or I got up and brushed myself off from the past and walked confidently into whatever the future held for me. Once you get through the aftermath of trauma and the mess of emotions, you become aware that divorce isn’t the end; it’s a new beginning, initially a difficult, lonely one, but it is a new chance at life. Once you stop dwelling on the ‘what ifs’ and begin to learn you are enough, no matter your age, it is then that you realize there is, in fact, a life after that life.
