Eight years ago, I found myself unceremoniously inducted into the Divorce Club—quite against my will. When I try to lighten the mood, I joke that while I wanted to stay married, my ex-husband and his new partner clearly had other ideas. The response to this quip varies; some people laugh knowingly, while others offer awkward smiles.
The journey since then has been riddled with hurdles. Transitioning from a stay-at-home mom for over a decade meant that job offers weren’t exactly flowing in. The financial repercussions were immense. After five long years of fighting for child support, I lost my home, my credit, and a fair amount of my sanity. While experiences like foreclosure and bankruptcy might be viewed as character-building, trust me—they are hard. The emotional rollercoaster was no easier. Raising four children while trying to maintain stability took its toll, not to mention the chaos added by an ex-husband who appeared and disappeared from their lives like a whirlwind, leaving chaos in his wake.
Miraculously, we managed to pull through the worst of it. My children are flourishing; two are in college, and two are in high school, all maturing into wonderful individuals who fill me with pride. As for me, I’ve worked relentlessly to create a safe environment. I often write about divorce and have become a go-to for people seeking guidance. They want reassurance that they, too, will be alright—that they can move past the pain, humiliation, and deep sadness that often accompanies divorce.
I owe those individuals an apology.
I’m usually the one waving the pom-poms of encouragement, preaching about survival, forgiveness, and eventual healing. I respond to heartfelt requests for help with bold affirmations like:
- “You’ve got this, my friend!”
- “Sure, it hurts like hell when your dreams shatter, but you WILL rise and thrive!”
- “There will come a time when seeing him won’t feel like a dagger to the heart.”
I brag about how well parallel parenting has worked for me, insisting that ignoring my ex-husband has made life smooth sailing. But I have to confess—I’m not entirely honest about my emotional state.
Why do I say this? Because just a couple of weeks back, I unexpectedly encountered my ex at work, and let me tell you, I didn’t handle it like a person who has fully healed.
Instead, I reacted like a petulant child.
Let me set the scene. I work late three nights a week at our elementary school, where we also host various Park and Rec programs. On this particular evening, I was doing my usual routine—making copies, organizing paperwork, and entering essential data into spreadsheets—when I spotted someone at the door.
I rushed over to buzz them in, only to freeze when I realized who it was. Yes, it was my ex, accompanied by his toddler from his new relationship. I felt like a character straight out of a sci-fi flick, wishing for an escape route to open up beneath me.
Our eyes locked, and his expression revealed shock and disbelief. I can only imagine what my face looked like—it was probably the classic “I just stepped in something gross” expression. The moment was overwhelming. Memories of the past decade flooded my mind—the good, the bad, and the downright ugly. Seeing him being affectionate with a child who looked so much like our sons was unsettling, to say the least.
Neither of us uttered a word. What could we say? I could have played it cool, maybe offered a casual “Hey” or “Fancy running into you.” The snarky part of me could have taken the low road, hurling some biting remarks. But instead, I did something unexpected—I made a face. It was an instinctive reaction, completely unintentional, and I wish I could show you what it looked like because it was certainly not my finest moment.
After he left, I felt a wave of nausea and shame wash over me. I was embarrassed that I hadn’t simply greeted him. Ashamed that he was there, enjoying fatherhood while I was wrapping up a long day at work. And ashamed that after all my talk about healing and resilience, I resorted to making a face.
On my drive home, I found myself venting to nobody but the steering wheel, berating both myself and my ex for the pain he caused our children. I returned home to an empty house, with my boys out having fun. Alone with my thoughts, I texted my best friend, pouring out my feelings. She listened and offered comfort. I made a martini, sank into a chair on my porch, and allowed myself to cry.
How’s that for “moving on”? How’s that for “getting over it”?
After I recovered from what I’ve dubbed FaceGate ’15, I came to a few realizations. First, maybe this parallel parenting approach isn’t as effective as I thought. If I had more interactions with him, perhaps running into him wouldn’t feel so shocking. But as much as I’d like to cultivate my maturity, I can’t see myself inviting him for coffee anytime soon.
Secondly, I need to be honest with myself and those who seek my advice—I’m not as far along in my healing journey as I often portray. And lastly, this process is undeniably tough. Some days are harder than others, and it’s crucial to extend grace not only to others but also to ourselves. As I often tell women just starting this journey: You’re going to stumble, and that’s perfectly okay.
We’re all going to be alright, right? Now that I truly understand what healing looks like, I think it’s time to retire that reaction face.
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Keyphrase: divorce and healing journey
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