The Life Changing Series 1 – ClaraVB

Divorce. Divorce is a big word. One you never hope to experience even though you know most marriages end with it. It’s one word that changed my life. My divorce was easy, well, easier than most, and I thank the logical human my ex-husband was for it. Two emotional messes would have made it much harder. 

It happened when I was 31 years old and, in all honesty, no major event lead to the this decision, rather, it was the accumulation of all the resulting little things of a poorly-matched marriage. I erased my person to be with him, not necessarily because he requested it, but simply because I thought  I needed to convince him to be with me and, most importantly, to stay with me. All the events of my life that preceded my marriage taught me that the real me was worthless, that only others’ happiness mattered. So I was fuelled by my husband’s well-being and by the pride he felt for me when I succeeded at something. I gave him that power, I put him on a pedestal and I put zero value on my emotions; they didn’t matter, they never did, and that is the main reasons our relationship soured.

The relationship was what it was, but some good did come of it.  I still believe to this day that my ex-husband was essential in pushing my career forward. He supported me for most of our relationship – less so in the end – and he always pushed me to ask for more at work. We also did have some great adventures and experiences. However, ulitmately, there was not outrunning the fact that he wanted something I couldn’t offer him. He thought he wanted a working wife, a successful wife, but it was clear towards the end that he would have much preferred a wife that took care of him in a way a more traditional wife would. But we were young, and he isn’t the only one who learned about himself. I too thought I wanted a life of titles, money and the so called “American dream”, to later realize it wasn’t right for me, that it wasn’t my dream. 

We started dating I was 19 years old and I knew absolutely nothing of myself other than what I was taught. I was taught that success, money, marriage and children were key to happiness. I was taught I’d be happy if I did it all. And my ex-husband made me believe it was possible, that we could get it all, together. He made the concept palpable, accessible. His family was extremely generous, and so was he. He pushed me to surpass myself at work and he gave me the confidence I could not give myself. We traveled and lived a bougie life, and even though I enjoyed those times, I eventually realized, it wasn’t right. We did all these things together, but we had nothing in common. We didn’t like any of the same things and had no hobbies in common other than travelling. 

He wasn’t a bad man, but he was a dependent one. He wanted to do everything together, and for some women, that works, but for me, who is more of independent nature, it was difficult. At the beginning, I would bring him along to my hobbies and he would bring me along to his, but once the honeymoon fades, you don’t really have the time or the energy to pretend you are enjoying yourself doing something you hate. So eventually I’d bring him along, and he’d ruin the mood, and, honestly, vice-versa. It became such a bother that I stopped doing the things I loved. Again, not something he requested, I simply didn’t want to make him angry or upset, and I wanted him to be happy, happier than me. It didn’t help of course that I felt judged for doing my own thing and for liking my own things. I loved and still love dancing, but he didn’t. So I stopped. I wanted to write, but felt I would have to explain why I wanted to write, and explain what I was writing, which was and still is quite a private window into my soul. So I stopped. I wanted to try this, or try that, but I assumed he wouldn’t enjoy it, so I didn’t. I stopped wanting anything. I just stopped. My relationship with him became my everything. I did however develop quite a liking for cooking, because that, he liked. 

We made this deal, at the very beginning of our 12 year relationship that I would cook pretty much every night under the condition that he would clean on those same nights. We also agreed that on days I didn’t feel like cooking we would go out, or order in, and that he would, generously, pay for it. It started off pretty well, everybody was happy, but along the way, it evolved into something different. Every time I didn’t want to cook, I couldn’t tell him to cook, because he didn’t like cooking and didn’t want to learn it,  so I would ask him to go out or order in and it started off nice, until he decided I was spending too much money on those meals and should cook more often from home. Making less money than him at the time, I argued a little, but not much. So I cooked, and from that point on, every time I cooked without spirit, it gnawed at my happiness, but the nibbles were so little each time that it took me years to realize just how much these events took a chunk of my happiness. The cooking is one example, but it also happened on house chores and other double standards (yes, the cliché). I just felt like I did so much more, always. And it might have been ok if I communicated this to him, if I talked to him about it, but I couldn’t. I didn’t want to make him angry.

Men’s anger has always been an issue for me. I am not sure why, and I am still trying to understand at this time, but the possibility of angering men has always scared me. I always just assumed if I dared speak up, men would get angry, aggressive, mean. My ex-husband and I did have a rough first year when he moved to Montreal. He was going through depression, hard depression, and I barely recognized him. He would get angry, and – I remember this like yesterday – when he got angry his eyes would change, they would harden, they would become mean, and then he would become mean. He would also become aggressive with things, not me per se, but things around me. Enough to scare me. He was in so much pain, I know he was, and I regret not being able to do more to help him through that rough patch, but I did hold on to us. To the thought that he would get through it and return to the man I fell in love with, and he did. He really did. I knew deep down he would. However, for me, the damage was done. After that, for the 10 years that followed, I never wanted to see him angry again. Let it be known however that he was not the only man to blame for this reaction on my part. My life had been composed of a fair share of angry men and the situation just piled on to a fear of men I already had. 

I would say it isn’t surprising that our relationship ended, but in a way it is, because so many people would have stayed in this relationship, even my ex-husband would have stayed in this relationship. It was comfortable and not as bad as others.  It’s never as bad as others. Though I think when the pandemic hit, everything hit. The covid 2020 pandemic, as most of you remember, forced couples together. For some it did wonders, babies were born and bonds became stronger, but for others, it was the beginning of the end. In a situation like this, there is no running away. There is no running away from a relationship that is built on very little in common, on clashes of dependency, on infinite compromising, and on the loss of oneself. If I am honest with myself, 2020 is the year I started realizing how unhappy I was, but the process of grief is so long, so painful, and so scary that two years is what I needed to come to terms with it. 

To realize neither of us would be happy in this marriage.
To realize I needed to be alone and get to know myself.
To realize the girl that started this relationship was completely different than the woman that ended it. 

It took all my courage to end it, to move away from 12 years of my life. It was hard, and it is still hard, but I don’t regret it, and I most certainly do not regret my time with him. It was a beautiful mix of happiness and pain, and it allowed me to become the woman I am today. And for that, I am grateful.