The Trauma of Divorce and Separation

We all know someone who has gone through marital breakdown, separation, and divorce. For some, the results are a relief. Depending on the dynamic of the relationship, a spouse - or both spouses - may feel happiness, freedom, and reprieve. A chance to start over. To become whole. To perhaps achieve what they could not achieve before.

For others, however, separation and divorce is a nightmare of stress, confusion, despair, and loneliness. In short, it can be a highly traumatic experience. This was what it was for me (despite fully believing at the time that it was the best course of action both for me and my ex-wife). And the trauma of the separation significantly contributed to my breakdown.

I am not going to write at length about what my family experienced. I was not with them at the time. I do know that I hurt my wife deeply (which caused me great anguish and guilt). Similarly, my children were hurt and shocked by the shattering of their family (which also caused me great anguish and guilt). My youngest was particularly troubled by this. Though s/he was 21 at the time of my leaving, and a young adult, s/he was shattered, and experienced feelings of abandonment, anger, loneliness, confusion, isolation, and hurt. S/he began having panic attacks which affected her/him greatly - as well as the entire family. I felt powerless to help because this time I was unable to fix me, much less help them. And I was sorely disappointed in myself and my performance.

Separation meant that I faced a huge leap into the unknown. I rented an apartment and for the first time in almost 30 years found myself living on my own. As a guy almost 55, I felt that I should be able to cope. But overcome by grief at the breakup of my marriage, lonely for the wife that I still loved despite my own decision to leave, lonely for my children - and grandchildren - that meant so much to me, I found myself walking around in a haze of confusion. I'd go shopping at the local grocery store. But standing in the middle of wide aisles I felt unable to complete the tasks. Choosing things as mundane as lettuce and cornflakes was a major chore that my muddled brain could hardly consider. The world of that grocery store seemed threatening, confusing and dizzying. Often, I'd come home with bags full of stuff that wasn't on my list, and had forgotten to buy most things that I'd intended to.

Going to work, and at least for the first few weeks, was a hoot. I had to take a new route to the workplace. Getting from the new apartment to work was easy - and yet because I wasn't able to focus I'd get lost. I'd come to a stop on an unfamiliar country lane way and force myself to breath deeply because I was so full of fear. I'd talk to myself: "Okay, turn around. Okay, take the next left. Okay, keep breathing because you're almost there."

I absolutely hated sleeping on my own. The apartment was so dark. Like a child, I left the bathroom light on. I had an old pendulum clock that I constantly wound which filled the apartment's small space with the voice of its comforting ticking. Often, I would put off going to bed as long as possible. I'd try to read a borrowed library book. Something fairly simple, a Grisham novel perhaps. But half the time the words were only a jumble of cold noise and I'd have to give up.

Few of my friends understood what was happening. Fewer showed any sign of support. At that point, I was not in therapy. Most of the time, I kept the fear and anguish that I was experiencing to myself. I was like an emotional pressure cooker whose internal forces are rapidly swinging beyond control.

"Internal pressure cooker". That was me all right. Years later, my counselor explained that we all carry an internal pressure cooker. Let the stress get too much and the pot begins to boil. Let it keep building without letting some of the pressure escape in a healthy way, and the cooker explodes.

Before the separation, my pot had already begun to boil. During the separation, and if my pot had a pressure sensor, the needle would have read: "Critical! Shut down now!"  I didn't know it then, but it would take me only one more stressor, one more incident, to push me over the edge.

For me, separation was traumatic. The absence of my family not what I had expected. Living alone lonely and unfathomably confusing. It was a time of despair and dread. It was a part of a journey that was leading me to the brink of the abyss.