On Leaving

As in turn your back and walk away. As in a break-up. As in divorce. As in, “bye, Felicia.” I’ve been thinking about it today. Why it’s hard. Why, sometimes, it feels too easy. And why I feel guilty about it. Leaving is a perfectly appropriate thing to do. It’s important to know when to leave. So why does it feel like giving up? And why do I find myself, on days like today, feeling the need to defend it? I guess the most honest response is that leaving results in pain — and though the pain is personal, it has a ripple effect.

It is a difficult thing to see the pain you have caused others, look in the mirror, and still know you’ve done the right thing. I can’t justify myself to someone who doesn’t believe my story — my version of how things have happened. This is a very difficult truth. The fact is, if you leave a relationship you are going to be judged. Your facts will be compared with your partners facts and people will pick sides. Or they will remain neutral, which sometimes feels worse, because you had reasons, goddamnit — and validation for those help lessen the pain. Worse still, is the fact that your version of events will not match your partners — the one person you were hoping would understand and know you better than anyone else. To leave a person is to forfeit the right to be understood by them. And that is a bitter pill to swallow.

If there are children involved, then the suppressed story is even more acute. It is not okay to talk badly about your children’s father/mother. And it is inappropriate (at the very least) to try to justify yourself to your child. You just have to love them, do your best by them, and leave your story at the door. It’s not their burden to carry. This doesn’t mean that you never answer questions, or that you should fabricate nice things about your ex. It’s just that most of us have a really strong desire to be the “good guy” in our own stories. When it comes to leaving a marriage with kids, being the better person really can’t be part of the narrative — and that is hard, and sometimes feels really unfair.

Ultimately, leaving is a selfish act. But it’s the kind of selfish that holds all the other pieces of you together. It’s the necessary kind of selfish. And that is why it’s important to talk about. And why it’s important to understand that leaving, though selfish, is not self-centered. It’s about understanding, recognizing, and coming to terms with the truth of a situation. I met a woman when I was on the verge of my second divorce, who helped me to see leaving a little differently. I was attending NAMI meetings to help me understand a family members struggles with mood disorders. It was a vulnerable setting to begin with and I was smack-dab in the middle of a crippling marital crisis. By the way, me and my ex attended these meetings together — throughout our separation. It was terribly hard on both of us. Anyway, I had noticed this woman at the meetings and admired her for her strength and candor. Plus, we had made a connection and I needed the particular comfort of strangers.

I stood around after one late night, trying to look busy, waiting to talk to her. When I caught her attention, she brought me out to her car where we sat and talked for almost an hour. I immediately burst into tears, telling her about my fears, the crossroads I was at, and my inner knowledge that I was done. She looked at me and told me there is absolutely no shame in leaving. She told me she had been divorced twice herself. We all have reasons we begin relationships and we all have reasons we end them. Knowing when to leave requires courage. It requires wisdom. Strength. She encouraged me to embrace those things. Change for the better is often accompanied by pain — but shame doesn’t and shouldn’t have to be part of the equation.

I don’t think leaving is ever a flippant act. In fact, it’s usually the end result of a long and painful journey. For so long, I saw divorce as a black mark on my life. It was something that I felt so deeply ashamed of. The thing is though, I know that I am a better person for having left. I am a better mother. A better friend. Just better. I know that I know that I know — that I did what was necessary. And I think that might be the best I could hope for. It’s not justification exactly, but it’s enough.

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This post was previously published on MEDIUM.COM.

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From The Good Men Project on Medium

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