LIFE LESSONS
It’s OK to Grieve an Ended Marriage
Because self-love is one of the best kinds
Today, I looked in the mirror and fell in love for the first time. ~ Whatever Lola Writes
I used to celebrate Valentine’s Day. Mine was the mindset that if my husband truly loved me, he’d shower me with a huge box of chocolates (the expensive kind, of course), a large bouquet of white roses (because red ones are not original enough), and take me to a fancy restaurant.
Basically, he needed to shell out a whole lot of cash to show me what I should have already known: his love for me was undying!
That was me a decade ago.
Today, a pinch over 13 years after the day we exchanged vows, I realize how absurd that fairytale was. And when I say “fairytale” I’m not talking about the institution so marriage, I’m referring to the notion of a picture-perfect relationship based on giving gifts on the 14 of September and thinking that spending money (especially when you’re broke) equates to true love.
An Unwanted Calendar Reminder
Soon, an anniversary will roll around. It is one I thought I had forgotten about. Actually, it’s one that the last two years had slipped my memory.
18 September 2014.
Divorce is a funny thing. Even typing those words sounds a bit hypocritical. Because there was a time when I found nothing humorous in it. To be clear: I am not making light of the D-word.
I know the pain it can cause. I also understand the role I played in my situation — and I have learned to accept all of it. My former spouse, Özgür was (is) no saint. He was and still is a very decent human being. And here I won’t say “but” because that would mean I’m somehow lessening the value of my former statements.
But, back to the anniversary.
A few days ago, in the car with my current lover, the date hit me: this month will be year #8 since our divorce was finalized. I didn’t feel a sharp pain in my chest like I had for several years. Nor did I find my eyes tearing up. None of that. It was simply a surprise that the date came up.
What really made the date stick out was something else entirely. My nephew, Kevin Francis, will turn 29 on 18 September 2022. I’ve not heard from him in about two years. I still remember the day I received the finalized divorce decree with that date — tears flowed down my cheeks.
Giving Myself Permission to Grieve
I’m pretty sure I’ve stopped grieving the death of my marriage. But there was a time when all I wanted to do was grieve. Crying became my best friend.
Going through old pictures of our wedding (physical ones and those on my cell phone) gave me some sort of comfort. Being in the denial phase meant I didn’t have to deal with the reality of my loss. It also meant I could continue to blame Özgür.
Two important lessons I’ve learned since then:
- accountability for my actions
- stop feeling sorry for myself
The first one allowed me to accept my role in the demise of our union (jealousy, control issues, lack of self-love). Rather than constantly pointing the finger in Özgür’s direction offered me an opportunity to be somewhat subjective about what happened to “us.”
As for #2, I realized that during my crying bouts I was comforted. I found solace in those moments. And while I understand it’s important to acknowledge the sadness I was feeling, I had also given myself a sense of being the victim. Once I owned up to the truth of what I was doing, it became easier for me to slowly stop it.
Giving myself permission to grieve meant I had to learn when it was time to stop. It meant taking a hard look at myself and admitting my part in the bigger picture. I was ready to begin the healing process at that point.
Create a New Love Daily
For as long as I can remember, I’ve been a huge fan of dark chocolate. The way a truffle melts in my mouth is heaven. From the many lessons I’ve learned through my ultimate separation from Özgür, there’s one I often think about:
That thing called Self-Love.
And then those two words come to mind, and a smile crosses my lips. It’s because I only began to understand what the term meant after my heartache. My former sis-in-law (and now friend), Öznur was the one who shed light on what was happening to me.
“You weren’t taught how to love,” she softly said to me one night in her kitchen.
I can still remember those seemingly incessant tears stroking my cheeks. With compassion and kindness, Öznur offered her assessment of what I shared about my childhood. She was right. I was taught a bunch of things as a child. And I understand my parents did the best they could, especially Nereida, the woman who gave me life. As a single parent, she had it rough.
Therapy and yoga helped me through that very dark time in my life. And so did chocolate — a different kind.
I began to build my own box of chocolate. Filled with my favorite kind. Dark chocolate of varying flavors: compassion, self-love, kindness, self-forgiveness, self-respect. Each day I look in the mirror, I am reminded to take one of my favorite pieces out of the “box.”
Each day, I allow myself to fall in love with the imperfect soul staring back at me. She is no longer broken. She is wondrous and whole.
