It didn’t happen.
Instead, every day, I would look into my bathroom mirror and see a middle-aged woman staring back at me. And she looked haggard. Bags sat under her eyes. The waddle on her neck was becoming more prominent and crepey. Small freckles were melding into discolored splotches on her face. Exhaustion was apparent in her expression.
I would sigh and realize that the woman I was looking at was me. The last 17 years had taken their toll, and I had the look to prove it.
I was in mid-life; the best years were behind me. What did I have to look forward to? As a woman, I wasn’t allowed to age. I had to maintain a youthful splendor to be accepted by society; to find a new relationship and move forward. Instead, I was devolving into a swamp hag.
I realized why so many women go off the deep end after a divorce. They get their hair done and have plastic surgery. They hit the gym and lose as much weight as possible. They do what they can to look amazing so that others will want them. Many of them indulge in a social life, heading out to bars and clubs to meet men and live in ways they hadn’t lived before.
I had no intention of taking things too far. There was no way I could afford plastic surgery, and I’ve been sober for 13 years; I wasn’t going to start drinking again. I did have visions of turning my home into a hang out spot on the weekends. Since the boys would be with their dad, I would host games and dinner parties and have the social life I never had when I was married.
And then COVID hit, and that shut down my social expectations pretty quickly. But I also realized that I didn’t want to spend that much time with others -- or that they didn’t want to spend their weekends hanging out with me. They were still married and had families of their own. They wanted to spend time with them.
In addition, I still had my boys to think about. They may have been with their dad every weekend, but it was my responsibility to take care of them during the week -- and that was incredibly exhausting. Getting them to and from school, as well as sports practices and whatever else they had going on, in addition to working, took up most of my time. When the weekend finally rolled around, all I wanted to do was rest.
Making Life Changes
Part of me became incredibly depressed when I realized that I wasn’t going to get my do-over. I may not have gone overboard with lifestyle changes, but I made a few alterations.
About a month before the divorce was finalized, I got a divorce cut -- I cut my hair super short (change your hair, change your life). Part of it was an act of rebellion. I was told throughout my marriage that if I ever cut my hair, he would leave me. Well, he was out the door, so what did I have to lose?
I started working out more, as well. Initially, the thought was that I wanted to make myself attractive for a new mate, but this wasn’t as motivating as I hoped it would be. The thought that I had no idea what another person was looking for in me, what they would find sexy, kept me from really devoting myself to exercise. I had heard so many mixed messages throughout my marriage about how I was supposed to look, I metaphorically threw up my hands and said fuck it. There was no point in exercising for someone who wasn’t currently in my life and who may or may not be any time soon.
Eventually, I changed my mindset and started exercising for myself. I asked myself what would make me the happiest, and then worked to achieve my goal. That gave me the motivation I needed to work out six days a week and change my eating habits. I still slip up every now and then, but since I’m doing this for me, I’m not as hard on myself. Maybe someone someday will like what they see, but -- honestly -- I don’t care. I’m happy with the work I’ve done to get my body strong.
One of the other things I did was to start wearing tighter clothes. That may sound weird, but with all the mixed messages I got about how I was supposed to look from my spouse, I was never confident with my body, so I always wore baggy outfits to hide the parts I didn’t like. I hadn’t reached my weight goal yet, but I decided to embrace my body as it was, and wearing tight clothes gave me the opportunity to show it off -- even if I was showing it off to myself.
There were days when I felt really good about where I was in life. About three months after the divorce was finalized, the house we had bought together finally sold and I was able to buy my own place (with the help of my mom as a co-signer). It felt really good to have a space that was my own, that hadn’t been tainted with bad memories and pain. It was my safe space, my hidey hole.
At this point in time, my ex and I were still on “good” terms. I say it that way because I was still catering to his needs and playing nice for the sake of the kids. He would come to the house and help me make repairs, and we often traveled together for the boys’ sporting events. People would always comment about how well we got along; and I took pride in that. I was proud of myself for acting like an adult and keeping the relationship between us cordial for the boys.
Of course, every time we were together, he would do or say something that reminded me why we were divorced. It was also incredibly exhausting playing nice and keeping up the charade, and it took a while to realize that these actions were all part of his game.
I started working out more, as well. Initially, the thought was that I wanted to make myself attractive for a new mate, but this wasn’t as motivating as I hoped it would be. The thought that I had no idea what another person was looking for in me, what they would find sexy, kept me from really devoting myself to exercise. I had heard so many mixed messages throughout my marriage about how I was supposed to look, I metaphorically threw up my hands and said fuck it. There was no point in exercising for someone who wasn’t currently in my life and who may or may not be any time soon.
Eventually, I changed my mindset and started exercising for myself. I asked myself what would make me the happiest, and then worked to achieve my goal. That gave me the motivation I needed to work out six days a week and change my eating habits. I still slip up every now and then, but since I’m doing this for me, I’m not as hard on myself. Maybe someone someday will like what they see, but -- honestly -- I don’t care. I’m happy with the work I’ve done to get my body strong.
One of the other things I did was to start wearing tighter clothes. That may sound weird, but with all the mixed messages I got about how I was supposed to look from my spouse, I was never confident with my body, so I always wore baggy outfits to hide the parts I didn’t like. I hadn’t reached my weight goal yet, but I decided to embrace my body as it was, and wearing tight clothes gave me the opportunity to show it off -- even if I was showing it off to myself.
There were days when I felt really good about where I was in life. About three months after the divorce was finalized, the house we had bought together finally sold and I was able to buy my own place (with the help of my mom as a co-signer). It felt really good to have a space that was my own, that hadn’t been tainted with bad memories and pain. It was my safe space, my hidey hole.
At this point in time, my ex and I were still on “good” terms. I say it that way because I was still catering to his needs and playing nice for the sake of the kids. He would come to the house and help me make repairs, and we often traveled together for the boys’ sporting events. People would always comment about how well we got along; and I took pride in that. I was proud of myself for acting like an adult and keeping the relationship between us cordial for the boys.
There Are Reasons We Are No Longer Together
Of course, every time we were together, he would do or say something that reminded me why we were divorced. It was also incredibly exhausting playing nice and keeping up the charade, and it took a while to realize that these actions were all part of his game.
He still needed me to take care of him, even if it wasn’t in the same capacity as it had been when we were married. I was still feeding his ego and making him look good; I was also keeping him from becoming too lonely.
He wasn’t doing the same for me. He was still making my life a living hell, and I needed to find a way out of it.
He wasn’t doing the same for me. He was still making my life a living hell, and I needed to find a way out of it.
But to be honest, I wasn’t ready. I was proud of the achievements I had made, but being on my own frightened me. I had been married to this person for 16 years, with him for 17. I truly, deeply loved him, even though I knew he was tearing me apart and killing me slowly. I was happy to be away from him, but I wasn’t ready to let go of him quite yet.
Slowly, I increased my distance and limited my contact. I felt happy for a while. I didn’t have to deal with the stress of him day in and day out. He had also reverted to his best behavior (mostly), so he once again became the guy I had fallen in love with. The monster came out often enough to remind me that I didn’t want to go back, but the good guy was there to keep me hooked and feeling like maybe I was wanted again.
We were growing apart during that time, but we were also getting along. We were doing the friend thing really well, but I still wanted my space. I thought I had the perfect setup with being away from his abuse, but also getting “the best” of him when I was around him. But at the same time, I could see his need and desire for outside attention, and his actions often left me angry and confused, as well as worried about the safety of my kids.
COVID never stopped my ex. When the disease first started making an appearance in the U.S. at the beginning of 2020, he took our boys to Seattle for Spring Break. He was essentially at Ground Zero, and he wasn’t concerned about it at all.
Slowly, I increased my distance and limited my contact. I felt happy for a while. I didn’t have to deal with the stress of him day in and day out. He had also reverted to his best behavior (mostly), so he once again became the guy I had fallen in love with. The monster came out often enough to remind me that I didn’t want to go back, but the good guy was there to keep me hooked and feeling like maybe I was wanted again.
We were growing apart during that time, but we were also getting along. We were doing the friend thing really well, but I still wanted my space. I thought I had the perfect setup with being away from his abuse, but also getting “the best” of him when I was around him. But at the same time, I could see his need and desire for outside attention, and his actions often left me angry and confused, as well as worried about the safety of my kids.
COVID never stopped my ex. When the disease first started making an appearance in the U.S. at the beginning of 2020, he took our boys to Seattle for Spring Break. He was essentially at Ground Zero, and he wasn’t concerned about it at all.
When they got back, the city and school were putting travelers on lockdown. He and the boys had to quarantine for two weeks to ensure they didn’t get sick. I’m fairly certain that he thought the boys would come home to my house, but I said no. I got groceries and things for the kids to do and dropped them off at his rental. At this point in time, I was still allowed to have a key to his house -- just in case the boys needed to get in while he was gone.
He got sick with the virus and looked like death warmed over. I would drop supplies by every now and then, keeping my distance to refrain from getting ill. I missed my boys terribly, so we would go for walks in the evenings so that I could see them and talk to them. They would keep their distance, but I would still get some time with them. A week of Spring Break turned into almost a month before the boys finally came home.
It was during this time that I realized there was no way I could have my life reset to 25. It would have absolutely been nice to have another chance at doing my life right and finding a partner that wasn’t a narcissist, but I would have to give up my kids.
He got sick with the virus and looked like death warmed over. I would drop supplies by every now and then, keeping my distance to refrain from getting ill. I missed my boys terribly, so we would go for walks in the evenings so that I could see them and talk to them. They would keep their distance, but I would still get some time with them. A week of Spring Break turned into almost a month before the boys finally came home.
Reality Settles In
It was during this time that I realized there was no way I could have my life reset to 25. It would have absolutely been nice to have another chance at doing my life right and finding a partner that wasn’t a narcissist, but I would have to give up my kids.
I wasn’t willing to do that.
I was their primary caretaker, and I had been even when I was married. My mom’s friend once told her that I was the only married single parent she knew. And that was definitely how it felt.
Being without my kids for three weeks when most of my time was spent with them was hard to handle. It was like Christmas when they were finally able to come home.
I’ve heard a lot of stories about divorced women who go off the deep end and neglect their roles as mothers to live the life they’ve dreamed of; one that is free of the shackles of marriage and full of things they want to do.
I’ve heard a lot of stories about divorced women who go off the deep end and neglect their roles as mothers to live the life they’ve dreamed of; one that is free of the shackles of marriage and full of things they want to do.
I get the appeal; I really do.
I wanted to go back to my 20s and live my life over again. But once I realized that wasn’t going to happen, that I still had responsibilities and kids to take care of, I did what I could to embrace my role.
When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I saw a middle-aged woman, and she looked like she had been rode hard and put away wet. But I didn’t lament the aging like I had in the past.
When I looked in the bathroom mirror, I saw a middle-aged woman, and she looked like she had been rode hard and put away wet. But I didn’t lament the aging like I had in the past.
I didn’t think my best years were behind me, because I knew amazing times were waiting for me in the future. I knew that watching my boys grow into young men and making sure they had the opportunities to explore their capabilities and do something fun was on me, and I was going to make sure they indulged.
I embraced my role as a mother; it defined me and gave me a purpose. I needed something because I had absolutely no fucking idea what I was doing with my life.
