One Month Into a Divorce I Didn’t Ask For

As I’m writing this, I am an American sitting on a plane in Azores, Portugal about to embark on an all-day journey to a small town in the heart of Spain. I don’t know why I’m leaving, other than that I must take a step in a direction… any step.

We are taught from a young age, if there’s a fight, just walk away. The problem with this is that we’re only taught to apply this strategy in the face of a fist fight. On the contrary, when emotional stressors present themselves (be them from work, relationships, family, or anything else), we are told to ‘put our head down and get through it.’ Why? A physical stressor and an emotional stressor ultimately hit the nervous system the same way… the heart rate goes up, cortisol floods the bloodstream, breathing gets shallower, pupils dilate, and our mind goes into survival mode. At that moment, the only thing our nervous system cares about is not dying. We’re unable to make sound and clear decisions, rather, we only can react emotionally and irrationally.

One month ago, I worked my last day at my corporate job. This moment was a long time coming. For 5 years, I had been building my side hustle… working 5–9PM in hopes that someday it could turn into my 9–5PM. The very next day, in lieu of a celebration of my newfound freedom from the corporate constraints, my wife of 11 years told me she was divorcing me. The words struck like a hard punch to the stomach. My heart rate spiked, my breath fled from my lungs, and I felt my mind go to a place it had not visited for a long time. My nervous system had taken a shock that it and I were not prepared to deal with.

And as you’d have it, these emotionally driven stressors tend to require immediate response. You can’t walk away from that conversation at that moment… you have to fight for your spouse, for your family, for the life you thought you were building together. Or do you?

I can share what my response was (and I say what I’m about to share without shame). They say losing a spouse through divorce is nearly equivalent to the death of a loved one. At that moment, sitting in my yellow armchair, I saw my family flash before my eyes…. The memories and traditions we’d built, the very moment we were in, and the future we were building, gone in an instant. I was watching something die and I had to do something about it. I had to white knuckle my way through the conversation and try to save us.

And so, my irrational, emotionally charged, survival side took over. I tried to rationalize, talk her out of it, I pleaded, I begged, I cried… all to save something I love. My rational brain was no longer present. All the mindset work, self-care rituals, and stoic literature in the world simply didn’t prepare me for the pain of that moment and the ensuing month to come.

The following month was a blur and a haze. I was somewhere between the fetal position on the bathroom floor, trying to be present for my kids, and putting a smile on my face for my client coaching calls (bear in mind, I’d left my day job to become a full-time nutrition and health coach the day before this news broke to me… I had clients who counted on me, and I couldn’t let them down). I did not know what to do. I did not know how to move forward. I had moved my entire life to her home island in Azores, Portugal and now at the very moment that the goal was achieved, the life we’d wanted was at the doorstep and all we had to do was walk through it, I was faced with watching it all crumble away. The colloquial term ‘alone on an island’ was never supposed to be literal, but in that moment, I was literally alone on an island… a prison of my own design. Ironic does not begin to describe it.

This isn’t a story about what led up to the death of my marriage. This is a story about how I’m processing it one month in. Maybe you can benefit from it, maybe not… but here is what has happened in the month following the worst news I can remember in my adult life.

Devastation

I didn’t know what to do. I was devastated. Nothing made sense. The sheer sense of loss was overwhelming and would stop me from functioning in the most unexpected moments. A song, a Facebook memory, an old photo on Apple memories had the power to bring me to tears in an instant. I spent days trying to pull myself together. Afterall, I’m a fighter, I lift weights, I box professionals, and I read a boatload of mindset books… I should be able to deal with this, right? Wrong. I was a puddle.

Calling for Help

How do you share this with anyone? I’m a guy who thought I had it together but when push comes to shove, I couldn’t keep the one thing that matters above all else together? In a time where I needed support more than ever, I had no idea how to tell anyone what was going on.

I have a history of dealing with depression, anxiety, and general overwhelm. I’ve combated these conditions since I was a teenager. My depression used to present itself in the form of self-harm that I don’t talk about… with anyone. I don’t talk about these things lightly… in fact I never talk about these things because remembering that part of my past makes me feel ashamed.

But the self-awareness I gained from my past is that I know that I am someone who can hide easily. I can put on a smile and pretend everything is ok. I can convince people I am fine even when I am dying inside. I don’t want to be someone who hides. I don’t want to be someone who doesn’t let others in when I need them most. So, I forced myself to ask for help.

I was alone on the island, so I relied on the communities I’d spent years building back home to be there for me virtually. I called my best friend in the world the day that my spouse shared her wishes with me and broke down to him. From that moment on, if someone asked… I didn’t lie. I knew I was only hurting myself and delaying the necessary process of healing if I lied. So, I shared, to those who asked, ‘how are you?’…. ‘I’m not ok, and I could use a friend.’ Through this experience, I learned the power of that simple phrase…’I’m not ok, and I could use a friend.’ I didn’t realize just how many people would come to the call. And I was grateful for it.

Pleading

I couldn’t and still at the time I’m writing this can’t let go. I love my wife. I do not disillusion myself. Our marriage has not been perfect. But I always believed in my core that we could make it work. I believed that we were meant for each other and that if we just kept trying, we would find our way back to a place we once were, or maybe even a better place. To have to come to the realization that she did not see things as I did… that she no longer loved me on that level, was excruciating. And I couldn’t let go. I’ve spent the past month trying to find a way to get her to reconsider this decision. But to no avail. One thing I’ve always loved about that woman, when her mind is made up… it’s made up.

Pretending Things are Normal

The thing about divorce is that no one prepares you for it. There is no roadmap or handbook (at least that I read). We had to stay in the same house for the time being. We have 2 kids who needed us, and we had bills to pay. The world doesn’t stop just because someone doesn’t love someone else anymore. Then on top of that, a week into this process, my household got struck by COVID. Here’s the twisted thing, I was happy. I was happy that we were sick and forced to quarantine together. I was happy to be able to take care of my wife and kids (I was the last one to catch it). Things felt… normal. For a week, we just didn’t talk about all this divorce stuff. We just took care of each other, ate together, and watched movies together.

I allowed myself to pretend the conversation had never happened. I hoped that if I just didn’t bring it back up, she wouldn’t either. But those hopes were misguided and futile. It did come back up, and when COVID was behind us… nothing had changed.

Devastation

See section labeled ‘devastation’ above… this was a running emotion through this entire process.

Inability to Process

Things were amicable and friendly. There was no hate or anger… just a resolute desire to move on from our marriage from her and a sorrow to watch our marriage die from me. She’d occasionally and even tactfully try to weave a path forward into our day-to-day conversations. She’d mention how we’d structure a parenting agreement for the girls, and she’d talk about how we’d structure our living situation and assets in the divorce. But I couldn’t participate, I’d break down every time it came up. Pathetic. She’d tactfully steer the conversation towards something more innocuous when she saw my nervous system start to escalate. I was grateful for her empathy in those moments.

Intimate Moments

Another weird thing about divorce is that it’s an undulating wave of emotions between two people who once were one another’s entire world. There were moments where I felt like a frozen ocean lied between us…. Sitting at the dinner table with the kids unsure how to even talk to each other. Then there were moments as intimate as any in our marriage. A moment on the couch watching a movie where my hand worked up the courage to hold hers… and she reciprocated. A deep and long hug before she went upstairs to bed in the makeshift room, she’d made for herself. An evening together in the living room laughing with the girls (who know not of the divorce yet at the time this is being written). I held onto those moments. But knew they were now temporary… somewhere between a relic of a past we once had and the systematic process of figuring out who we were to one another as unmarried souls carrying on in our lives.

The Need to Take a Step — In Any Direction

I felt alone, I felt scared, and I felt lost. I didn’t know what direction to move in… but remember the beginning of this story? We’re supposed to white knuckle it through emotional battles, right? Face your demons, face your aggressor, and solve the problem… just put your head down and get through it. Wrong.

How absurd is it to think that I’d be able to think with any meaningful clarity when I was in the state this put me in. So, I took a step. I have an aunt in Spain. I was alone on an island, in a country that is not home, surrounded by those who I know solely because of the woman who is leaving. I needed to get out. I needed clarity. I needed to figure out how the hell to move forward. I bought a ticket and as I write this, I’m sitting in a plane somewhere over the Atlantic Ocean, unsure of my future, incapable of thinking more than 60 minutes ahead without entering panic, and really, I just want a hug. Maybe a week away will do me good, maybe not. But either way, I have this time to process and when I come back to the island, it will be time to find my path forward.

Letting Go

A friend told me I need to undergo the systematic process of letting go. I asked that friend what that meant and how I do it. They said there is no answer to that question… it’s different for everyone. As I sit on this flight, pondering what the next year of my life looks like living as an unmarried man, on an island I moved to so I could build a future with a nuclear family I no longer have, I realize that this process is systematic, and I am smack dab in the middle of it. I will be ok. I will come out of this with lessons to carry me into my future. But right now, as I write these words, it just hurts.

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Joey Szolowicz is a Lifestyle, Nutrition and Health Blogger and Vlogger. For weekly tips join, his community here.

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This post was previously published on medium.com.

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