As the lawyers were busy trying to work out a division of property, my ex emailed me to say he wanted only three things from our home: his desk, a framed print, and the old project car sitting on blocks in the garage.

I was left with a closet stuffed with suits, boxes of paperwork, a garage full of tools…well, basically 35 years’ worth of belongings left behind – discarded as worthless, like our marriage, like me. I thought about shredding his clothing, smashing furniture (okay, I did throw away the bed), and burning photos and letters in the fireplace, but surprisingly (to me) I didn’t do any of that. Maybe I was too numb, but anger wasn’t my go-to emotion at the time, only hurt and sorrow. There was no space or energy for anger. But I certainly didn’t want to see reminders of him around me.

I gave everything he owned to the local thrift store. I kept tools from the garage that I knew I might need – a drill, hammer, things like that. As a single woman, living alone, I would have to learn how to use them. I saved his extensive collection of silk ties to make padded cushions for the kitchen chairs. I would sit on a different one at every meal. And I designed some very fancy collars for the animal rescue society to use in their photo ops for pups looking for a new home.

He would have been furious. Furious because I wasn’t destroyed, didn’t fall down in despair, didn’t cry and scream in anger. (Oh, there was a lot of crying, but it was out of loss – loss of what I thought had been love)

My revenge was using the reminders of his existence for something good and creative. Yes, I was hurt terribly, but I wasn’t defeated. A long-painful court battle was ahead of me, and the next four years were the worst in my life. Looking back on it all now, the struggles and the fear of what would happen to me, I can see how that core of defiance and determination that I didn’t know I had is what saved me. If you’re facing the same issue – what to do with the physical reminders, maybe you can get some satisfaction as I did by letting them go. Don’t let them or him hurt you any more.

I hope that whoever got his hand-tooled leather cowboy boots has enjoyed them these past 10 years, and that somewhere a little doggie is looking good in his new red silk collar. Best of all, my ex will never know.

Original art by Fen McCallum-Bont