This is a wonderful monologue by the fabulous actress Lesley Manville. In it she voices a lot of emotions most women whose husbands have walked on a long-standing marriage might recognise. She does them with pain, humour and hope.
Enjoy – and if you can donate, please do.
I’m very lucky where I live. We’re not yet restricted with how many times we can go out in a day, and I live beside a river path, so nature is close at hand. Almost closer at hand now. With the pre-Covid constant hum of traffic erased, the birds seem to be singing more sweetly, the river bubbling more peacefully, and some people, including myself, are able to take the time to slow down and listen to nature.
It’s the same walk I took every day for a year after my husband left me five years ago. Did I notice nature then? I can’t remember but I doubt it. Every day was a painful blur. I’d walk that river path with my hood pulled over my face and sunglasses covering my eyes so people couldn’t see the tears falling from them. Continue reading
T.S Eliot’s poem claims that ‘April is the cruellest month’, but when it comes to marital break-ups, that title belongs to January. In fact, Family Lawyers refer to January as ‘Divorce Month’ as it’s the busiest month of the year for divorce filings.
Why? Because many spouses hold off for Xmas to be over before they drop the bombshell. And although my husband didn’t leave me until – ironically enough – April, I can now look back and say with certainty that December 27th, 2014 was the day he checked out of our marriage both mentally and emotionally.
With the divorce rate now being 40% in Canada, it’s possible you have found yourself in this situation over what is supposed to be the happiest season of the year.
They say only fools give or accept advice, so what I’m going to offer here is an observation from someone who is almost 5 years down the path in which you might have suddenly found yourself.
Bear with me.
I went out for a New Year’s walk along the river path this afternoon, and what I saw was a perfect metaphor for where you might have unwillingly found yourself. Along with several other spectators, I stood on a bridge and watched as some chunks of ice floated along the river, before smashing into an ice jam. There they lay, stuck, for some time, until one or two broke free and slid under an ice bridge.
We watched. Would they reappear… or would they be trapped under the ice until spring came along to release them?
But no… first one, then another emerged from the ice and continued on their journey.
It still wasn’t smooth sailing. There were more ice jams, more ice bridges to navigate. Sometimes they got caught once more… but they finally broke free and continued down the river.
And that’s what the journey through divorce feels like. Especially in the early stages. You get battered from place to place until there are times when you feel like you are drowning. But then you re-emerge and continue down your path. It’s still not going to be plain sailing, and there’ll be another ice jam. Once again you may get stuck… but once again you WILL break free.
As I headed towards the second bridge which would bring me back across the river, I found it closed off to the public. Structural problems, apparently! So I had to make a detour to a smaller bridge about 100 yards away. This one was decorated in roses, the flowers of summer. And as I made my way across it, I spied 2 pieces of ice floating quite happily down the river. But what they didn’t know, was they were approaching some small rapids. They were in for a bumpy time.
And that made me think about this post-divorce journey. In the beginning, it’s rough, so rough that you feel like you’re drowning in the pain and anger and loss and grief. But, over time, it starts to ease. You go through a smooth patch… and then it gets rocky again. Smooth for longer this time… then you hit some rapids… but then it eases and you float along.
And so it goes.
If you’re on this painful journey, trust me, you’ve got it, girl. You can do it.
This year, you will discover that you are stronger than you ever believed possible.
Photo by Ju Carvalho.
Gumption: the ability to decide what is the best thing to do in a given situation, and to do it with energy and determination.
After a six-month break, I’ve started writing Julia Cameron’s Morning Pages again. I’ve struggled for a few days getting even two pages written, far less three, so, to make things a bit easier for myself, this morning I used a journalling prompt I found on Pinterest last night.
“What do you need more of in your life?”
The three pages came quick and fast – oh yes, I need a lot more self-discipline, a good dose of self-belief, and a little male company wouldn’t go wrong – but it wasn’t until about halfway down the last page that I finally figured it out. What I need – what I really need more of – in my life is ‘gumption’. Find that, and perhaps the rest will fall into place. Continue reading
Every day I am stronger.
I see it in the way I stop to listen to the robins as they flit around the back garden, pouncing on worms for their fluffy, chirping babies. I feel it flow through my body when I set off for a walk with the dog, sunshine warming my bones, unlocking the stiffness in arthritic joints. And then, unexpected, a certain song comes on the radio, words open the lid on the well of sorrow and loneliness that sits deep in my heart, plucking out fat, salty tears of loss.
I can rationalize the death of our marriage, the death of might-have-could-have-beens. I absolutely know that my life is happier and better in so many ways without that dominating, angry man turning all the colours grey but…I can’t deny that I did love him so very much. No matter what happened between us through more than 40 turbulent years together, no matter how much he hurt me (and perhaps I hurt him), I once loved him with all my heart.
A few musical notes, poetic words and I am so overwhelmingly sad. A deep ache of loneliness for the man I thought he was, the man I wanted him to be. Most of the time, I hold down that pain with my busy, happy, free life. I am blessed with loving children, grandchildren, and friends. I smile a lot these days.
I had thought my sorrow was for lost dreams and found disappointments but it’s becoming clear to me that it comes from a dark hole of loneliness. From the moment we are born, we seek a loving touch. Even at the advanced age of 66, its absence just plain hurts.
I notice I’ve developed the habit of hugging. I encourage my dog to jump up beside me on the bed at night. I plant my flowers, trim my shrubs, and fill the bird bath with loving hands. All these things help, but I have to face it–despite the unhappy years of being with someone who didn’t love me and the ugly exposure of separation and divorce, I long again for a partner in life, someone with whom to share all the joys and fears of the fading light. I am so very lonely. I am so very sad. Finally I can admit it to myself. I relish the hot relief of tears spilling some of the sorrow from my heart.
The song finishes, and I wipe my wet cheeks with my sleeve and once again count all the bright blessings in my life. I remind myself that no one has it all, that this longing isn’t demeaning but simply part of being human. It’ll be okay.
And hey, it isn’t over until it’s over. The music of life is playing. It’s sad and joyful and so very beautiful.
Mum
May 2016 be your year of yes. May it be filled with love, family, adventure, travel, new experiences and empowerment.
All my love,
xx
That was the inscription my daughter wrote on the book she gave me for Christmas 2015 – Year of Yes (How to Dance it Out, Stand in the Sun and be Your Own Person) by Shonda Rhimes,- the incredible creator of Grey’s Anatomy, Scandal and Private Practice (amongst others).
2015 was the year my husband left me, and that Christmas, despite my daughter giving birth to her first child a few days earlier, I was truly lost and in despair.
There was one particular paragraph in the book that really resonated with me. Losing yourself doesn’t happen all at once. Losing yourself happens one ‘no’ at a time. ‘No’ to going out tonight. ‘No’ to catching up with that old college roommate. ‘No’ to attending that party. ‘No’ to making a new friend. Losing yourself happens one pound at a time. Continue reading
There are times when all the inspirational quotes in the world, all the positive self-talk, all the telling yourself that you should be over this, that you’re moving on, that you’re stronger and better than you were, all the kind supportive comments of friends, family and counsellors just don’t cut it. Something triggers you and the tears and pain and grief cuts right into your soul leaving you as raw and in such emotional agony as those early days.
There’s nothing – nothing – anyone else can do to help or console you. You know you’re just going to have to go down that dark path by yourself and know you’ll come out the other end into the light.
And when you do emerge into the light, it’ll be bitter-sweet, because you know that somewhere down the line – maybe not for weeks, months or even years – that darkness is waiting for you up ahead, hiding out of sight, waiting to pounce again when you’re feeling vulnerable.
For me, it was a combination of things. I had packed away all the pictures that include my ex-husband – or at least I thought I had. But last night I came upon a family photo taken of us all a couple of years before he left me. We look happy. Solid. I’m looking at the camera with total innocence, his arm around me, no idea that my marriage and family are about to implode. Continue reading
I always thought I was a pretty solitary person, and that I didn’t have many friends. How wrong I was. They say ‘a friend in need is a friend indeed’ and when I was in need, they showed up. I can only hope that in future, I can be such a friend to others.
The following is a letter of thanks I sent to those amazing people who helped me through that first year. I’m posting it here for the following reasons.
I’ve always loved the weekend. The anticipation of that last period on a Friday afternoon in high school, when our French teacher let us read old copies of Paris Match, instead of having to endure learning verbs or vocabulary or translating French to English or vice versa.
And then that drag on the stomach on a Sunday evening, listening to ‘Sing Something Simple’ on the radio, driving back from a day out on the coast, knowing school beckoned the next morning.
Or when the kids were young, and Friday afternoon meant the freedom of the weekend, just hanging out and enjoying being with them, before the Sunday evening routine of making sure homework was done, bags packed and clothes laid out for school next morning. Continue reading
Now that the “battle” is over (I have been officially divorced ten months), I have my future in my own hands: I have a life to live, a future to embrace. Right? Well, maybe not exactly quite there yet.
I had thought I was coming to grips with the rejection and grief that official court-signed document had delivered when I first read the words: Certificate of Divorce. Yet more and more I realize I have been withdrawing into myself. Was I depressed? Yes. Was I anxious about this wide-open future? Absolutely terrified, to be honest and still am. I’ve been taking a mild anti-depressant for over a year now and that helped me to stop bursting into tears at little or even no provocation, but the grief over the death of my marriage, the fact that money is a constant worry. No little pill can make any of that go away.
I was drifting further and further into the hinterland of aloneness, staying home, not answering letters, turning down coffee meets with friends, even family. I’d say I was busy, but the truth was I just couldn’t get out of my misery and into the world. I didn’t want to hear one more person tell me that I’m better off without him. I know that but why can’t I get over the stupid, senseless grief? Continue reading
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