What it’s like to get divorced

My wife and I have been married for two years, dated for five (or six, depending on how you count), and we’re going through a divorce. It’s not a secret, but also this is my first time writing about it publicly.

People ask me, “why?” There wasn’t any big scandal, no great broken trust, no cheating, no boredom. The subject of polyamory vs. monogamy was a huge strain as were gender roles, but these feel like convenient stories. Probably the wisest thing I’ve heard in this process is that married couples don’t really know why they split up until years after. What I can say is that I never felt like I was quite getting the thing that I needed. I don’t think that she was, either.

Yet we still love each other deeply. It turns out that love isn’t enough, but you can’t possibly know that until you get to the end.

People don’t know what to say to me when I share the news. This experience seems to be gendered. My wife tells me that she’s never received anything short of love and support from friends, coworkers and family. When I tell people, most of them would rather I stop talking. They try to turn it into a joke or fix me or just get really silent and awkward. I think that subconsciously people assume that I’ve done something to her. Notable exceptions include kinky, queer and divorced friends, from whom I’ve received much needed empathy and support, and of course the most supportive person of all, my wife.

I veer between feeling intensely sad and liberated. I spend a couple hours each weekend listening to two particular Serge Gainsbourg songs on repeat that trigger tears without fail. Most days still feel like a catastrophe in slow motion. Part of me still doesn’t believe that it’s actually happening, like the hero will come and save everyone. But actually this is the part of the show where the man with the outstretched cane starts to pull you off stage and they turn up the music. Hey buddy, it’s time to go! But I just got started.

At the same time, I can’t stop thinking about how I’ve been given a second chance at life. Everything has an intense sense of urgency.

It feels like I’ve been preparing for this moment for years. Going to therapy, changing careers, literally and figuratively hiding in closets, cutting ties with abusive family. Most people in my circles have spent their 20’s building their careers; I’ve spent it in hard emotional labor. The result is a man who at age 30 knows himself. And now that I’m primed and free, an inner voice is telling me confidently, sotto voce, “you know the way and now you’re free. Do it.”

I feel free. I feel terrified. I want to move to Germany and make sure I have health insurance forever.

I also feel grateful. If it weren’t for my wife, I’d be in some miserable hell hole of an academic post still beating up on myself for not being a great man. The truth is that without her, I wouldn’t have become a man at all. We grew up together. She showed me how to be a compassionate, empathetic human being. Hard as it is, this divorce is but one more act of mutual compassion.