What To Do If You Question Your Divorce Decision
You’re making the right choice. Really.
You’re in the right direction (Photo by Gaelle Marcel on Unsplash)
There are many milestones when getting a divorce. Filing the paperwork. Deciding to get a lawyer. Hiring a mediator. Telling friends. Telling the kids. Oh and the biggest one: deciding to actually get a divorce.
In this stage of divorce purgatory, no one tells you about the Did I Make The Right Choice stage.
Divorce isn’t a one-and-done kind of deal. You don’t decide you want a divorce, fill out a form online, click Submit and you’re done. Instead, it’s like going to the DMV with the Sloths from Zootopia. But it’s not the DMV and their job is to find a needle in a haystack.
It takes forever. My situation is simple; my heart goes out to anyone who has custody issues or a shared business. I thought we could bust out the whole thing in max, three weeks.
I was so very, very wrong.
California has a “cooling off” period, which means couples wait six months for their divorce to finalize. I assume it’s due to the number of celebrities who break up and reunite repeatedly (looking at you, J Lo).
Between the cooling-off period and the legal bullshit, that leaves months to ruminate. It consumes your mind. You become a shitty friend because you can’t keep track of their lives when you’re mentally spinning financial numbers and the potential effect on the children.
I’m an overthinker. Combined with generalized anxiety disorder, my brain is like a hundred radios on all at the same time. I can shut off one, but another one turns on. Ending my marriage has played on those radios for years.
Once I announced the divorce, I felt free. I wasn’t happy. I wasn’t emotionless. But the feeling of freedom when throwing a bomb on a problem and saying “fuck it all and let the chips land where they may” was liberating.
I don’t regret the divorce request. I’m also not fully divorced, nor have I even moved out, so for now my life physically is pretty cushy. Things will feel different when I’ve moved out and I’m the sole income earner with two kids.
However, I do question if I really should have done this. I tell myself that I’m sufficiently materialistic and being able to splurge during Nordstrom’s Anniversary Sale would have boosted my depression levels. Or how my incessant need to fight aging could be alleviated with a mini facelift, paid for with the savings I’m banking for the divorce. Life would be easier.
But it wouldn’t be happier.
I know this because I remind myself of two things whenever I wonder if I can give up the comfort and financial security of this marriage.
First, I tell myself that I spent every day for years pondering the divorce decision. I agonized over it. I endlessly read books and online articles about its effects on children. There was so much crying. So much anger and pent-up resentment.
If I stayed, I would waste every day for the rest of my life wondering if I should divorce. If you have to ask yourself daily if you should go in one direction, then the answer is yes…that’s the direction. No one should stay in a marriage if they’re plagued with daily thoughts of leaving.
Secondly, I’m often in the kitchen at the same time as my soon-to-be ex-husband. I think he purposely goes in there when I’m in there. I time it so that my presence is during off-hours, not prime eating or snacking time. It never fails that when I’m in the kitchen preparing food for myself, that’s when he goes in and putters around until he finds something to eat.
And then I hear his chewing.
His loud, skin-crawling chewing.
I can hear his chewing when I’m in another room with the door closed. At a dinner with friends, the mashing of food in his mouth is the only one I can hear. It’s been that way for almost two decades; even when I enjoyed his company, the sound of his eating made my body tense in disgust. After much analysis, I think it’s because he takes massive bites of his food and eats quickly. It’s disgusting.
That’s when I tell myself that if I can’t even enjoy a single meal with the person I’m married to, then I shouldn’t be married to them. Maybe it’s an autism-sensory thing. All I know is that hearing him chew gives me a violent physical reaction. My muscles tense up. My fingers grip into a fist. I bring my shoulders up like I’m trying to use them to cover my ears. My blood pressure rises as my heart pounds loudly. My brain begs for someone to play a broken violin or run a fork on a chalkboard to ease the sounds of his revolting chewing.
For those two reasons, I don’t look back on my decision.
I wish I could look past them. I don’t even think about the porn addiction, the dead bedroom, the massage parlors, the name-calling, or the fighting. These two reasons are enough to fuel me forward and clear my mind of any potential regret.
Hopefully, I’ll continue to move forward leaving any regrets in the dust.
