Divorce, once rare and stigmatised, has become mainstream – 42 per cent of marriages now end this way, meaning nearly half of us who get married can expect to experience it in our lifetime. Just as every marriage is different, so is every divorce. In this column, divorcees reflect on their life-changing experience. Helped by the benefit of hindsight, they’ll share advice and reflections. Interview by Isabelle Aron
My husband and I were friends first. We met in 1984 at university when I was 23. After graduating, we lived together in a shared house. His sister lived there too, and we were close friends. During that time, he and I got together for a period of six months, but his sister was very angry about it. It ended our friendship.
We broke up but stayed friends and years later, in 1996, we got back together and had a baby. In 2000, we finally got married, I was 39. The decision to get married was my idea. I wanted the security. But it didn’t take him long to come around to the idea.
I’d always said I’d never get married and that it was patriarchal nonsense – I was politically radical in my youth – and that was perhaps one of the reasons it took so long. But through being with someone that I loved very much, who I had known for a long time and with whom I had a child, I discovered that I liked the idea of marriage.
Our marriage was warm and affectionate, and we had a fairly strong physical connection. We had pretty good communication, although I was more emotionally literate. I enjoyed the feeling of security, togetherness and companionship. I loved saying: “My husband.” And I loved being called a wife.
As time went on, I had difficulties with his family. In my own family, I’d been the scapegoat and that was difficult for me. So his family had the potential to be quite important to me, but because his sister had taken against me when we got together, I felt she created a ringfence system within the family. I’d go to family events and she’d be there radiating hate. The rest of the family weren’t hostile, but they weren’t warmly accepting. I found that really hard.
I felt it was up to my husband to sort it out and to say: “This is my wife. You need to make her feel welcome.” But he didn’t, and I found that extremely hurtful. I felt a bit betrayed, and that issue ran throughout our marriage.
Eventually, he started to get a bit aggressive. Not abusive or anything like that, but a bit hostile. I remember dropping our daughter off at nursery together and him driving off without me in a temper. My handbag was still in the car, so I had to run after him to get it and then he drove off. I didn’t know why he was so cross.
Another thing that hurt me was around my birthday. He always seemed hostile to the notion of celebrating it. I remember one time we were in a restaurant celebrating and he had a rather long face. I said to him: “You don’t really like celebrating my birthday, do you?” He said: “No, I don’t.” I found that confusing. He didn’t explain why and I didn’t ask, but my heart sank.
When I look back, I regret not having asked more and pushed him more on the things that hurt me. I could have asked him to unpack things a bit.
We started having couples counselling. He didn’t turn up for our last session and I was really disappointed by that, but I don’t think we ever talked about it.
I never felt fully confident in our relationship. Every day, I’d ask myself if I should leave. But I never knew if that was because of him or because it’s just hard being in a long-term relationship. One day, I said to him: “Are you happy being married to me?” It was an off-the-cuff question. I hadn’t planned it. He said: “I’d always thought I’d be married to somebody more gorgeous.” It was probably just a silly comment, but I was devastated. I never asked him about why he’d said it, which was maybe a mistake.
I think if you love someone, you find them gorgeous. I loved my husband. I thought he was gorgeous. It felt like the little something that pushed me over the edge. I felt unloved and decided I was going to leave.
I left in the autumn of 2006. My mum had given me two flats, and I sold them to get the capital. Using those funds, I bought a flat and moved out.
We had a strong commitment to co-parent our child and to make sure she wasn’t traumatised by our divorce. My father left our family when I was young, with no warning, and it was hugely traumatic. It felt important to do this differently. She was with me two-thirds of the time and with my husband the rest of the time.
My memory of the divorce is quite blurry – probably because, on some level, I didn’t really want it. I left when I was 45 and it was finalised when I was 50. I couldn’t bear to tell him I was going to leave. When I reflect on that now, I think it was because I loved him too much. Now, I think that was an indication that it wasn’t the right move.
I haven’t consciously regretted our divorce until this year, 20 years after I left. It’s only now that I think it would have been better to stay. If I could go back and have a chat with 45-year-old me, I’d say: “Don’t leave. Speak up more. Understand how much you love this person and understand that your life isn’t necessarily going to be what you would think it might be after you leave. It’s going to be hard and you’re not going to have that companionship. You might not meet somebody who’s as kind and loving as him.”
Five years after I left, he told me that he had a new partner. I burst into tears. I think that was another indication of how much I loved him. I don’t know why I couldn’t appreciate that at the time when we were married.
I regret losing the gentle companionship we had. I regret letting go of the person that I loved very much. I don’t lie awake at 3am thinking: “Oh my god, why did I do that?” But for about a year after I left, I wept and grieved. Gradually, I healed from that deep grieving.
But this year, I’ve returned to some of that sadness. I’ve had a couple of relationships and been in love with people since, but I haven’t met someone that I loved as much as him.
