Divorce Broke My Heart, but it Didn't Break Me

four lessons from my first year of healing

I’ve always had a very uncomfortable relationship with time. I remember staring at the clock as a high school student, watching it move in slow motion. I tried my best to Matilda that shit and fast forward to the three o’clock bell.

It was maddening, feeling stuck in my desk, waiting for life to begin.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

The clock always took its sweet time.

It’s been almost a year since my marriage ended. Back then, I would’ve said “suddenly”. But the truth is, Rome wasn’t built in a day, and it didn’t fall apart overnight. That was the first of many truths I’ve learned to swallow this year. Hard-earned wisdom that burned going down, but lead to a place of deep healing.

Today, I’m speaking to any of my readers who are deep in the trenches of heartbreak. Let me share with you what Time has taught me:

Four lessons in hope and in healing.

#1. Time is the medicine which heals broken hearts, and we don’t get to hit fast-forward.

I remember the waves of utter agony, the combination of shame and despair. I couldn’t button myself up in public because I couldn’t predict my emotions. If grief wanted to hang out at the trampoline park, she’d show up without an appointment.

It felt like being dragged through town, naked, toward an unknown destination. I wasn’t exactly a willing participant, but guess what? Grief didn’t care.

I raged at God, cried to my friends, attempted to argue with my therapist. I had to believe there was a some sort of shortcut, some escape hatch from all of this pain. Surely, there was a faster way than waiting for the wounds to clot, slowly.

But no, there wasn’t a faster way. Or an easier, less dizzying one. No drug or cocktail or binge-worthy escapism can usher a heart towards healing. It might numb you for a moment, but when that buzz fades, you get spit out right where you started. If you try to short cut healing, it’s just gonna take that much longer. Or as my favorite horse trainer (Pat Parelli) used to say, “If you take the time it takes, it takes less time.”

The long road, it turns out, isn’t optional. Healing a heart is a time-winding journey that can feel like a million mile roller coaster. Peaks and valleys, hard right turns, and sometimes, an unexpected reverse. But one day, you’re going to get off of this ride and look back on these moments with wonder. You’ll feel so much pride at your own resilience, and how your own inner strength carried you through. Like stepping out of a storm into the land of Oz, your life will again have color.

There is a light at the end of this tunnel. And I promise, it isn’t a train.

#2. How you feel isn’t how you’re doing. Stop trying to police your emotions.

I was sitting in my therapist’s office, about three months deep in divorce. I felt like I was drowning in grief and depression. I just couldn’t pull myself out of it. She started the session with, “So, how are you doing?” which I figured was a rhetorical question. My eyes were swollen, my hair unbrushed, my heart was utterly shattered.

“Terrible,” I replied as I burst into tears. “I can’t get him off of my mind. I was reading this book by C.S. Lewis and this line hit me straight in the stomach. It said, ‘Her absence is like the sky over everything’. Honestly, that’s how I feel. I can’t escape the constant grief. Like breathing inside of a vacuum. Nothing matters if I can’t share it with him. I can’t figure out how to move forward.”

Maggie took in a careful breath, then proceeded to change my life.

“Okay, so what you just described to me is how you are feeling, not how you are doing. And I want to get to that in a minute, but first…how are you doing?”

“Well…” I had to pause for a second, regroup my thoughts for an answer. “I am working hard. I’m keeping the house. I exercise whenever I can. My kids feel loved and seen and supported. I guess I am doing…okay?”

She nodded her head in agreement.

“How you feel isn’t how you’re doing. Those are two separate things. Think about everything you are doing while processing all this pain. You might be feeling rotten right now, but I think you are doing amazing.”

It was the first time I’d ever considered the difference. But, wow. She was so freaking right. It was also the first time I realized how much I moralize negative emotions. As if sadness was some sort of personal failing.

As if somehow, I should do better?

“You cannot control your emotions, MK. And they shouldn’t control you, either. They simply exist, like clouds in the sky. Here one day, gone the next.”

“So what am I supposed to do with my grief?”

“You experience it. That’s all you can do.”

To be honest, I hated that answer at first. But it turned out to be a relief. Because if I have no control over what I am feeling, then there was no reason to feel shame for those feelings. You and I are not in charge of the storms that form in the sky. Sadness isn’t a failure to heal. It’s simply a feeling that finds us. Just hunker down, and let the rain come, and put one foot in front of the other.

How you feel isn’t how you are doing. My friend, you are doing just fine.

#3. Stop chasing snakes and start healing your wounds.

Have you ever been bitten by a snake? Do you know what to do if you’re bitten?

You chase down that snake, catch it bare-handed and hold it up to your face, then ask that sonofagun in the eye, “WHY IN THE HELL DID YOU BITE ME?”

Just kidding, that’s a dumb thing to do. For one thing, if you actually catch that snake, it’ll probably just bite you again. Never mind the whole time you are out there running, your heart is just churning through venom.

If you’re bit by a snake, this is what you should do: Stop and seek medical attention.

And no, we aren’t talking about snakebites, friend.

We are talking about the shock of divorce.

When your happily ever after falls apart, it can make you do crazy things. Like chase down the person who left you bleeding, in hopes that you’ll find some answers.

Now before anyone gets all spicy about it, in this analogy the snake isn’t evil. It’s morally neutral, just doing snake things, like rattling its butt at your boot.

The truth is, we are all just creatures on a Big Blue Marble that is rolling through space. One day, you’re a boot. Next day, you’re the snake. We’re all out here, just trying to survive.

This context matters, because when it comes to divorce, people always want to pick out the bad guy. And what I’m telling you is, you don’t need that answer. And frankly, you may never get one.

What does this have to do with a snake? Well, friend, I am glad you asked. It comes down to blame and getting answers. Two things that you really don’t need…at least, not right now. Not while you’re hurting. Not while your insides are burning.

Six months into the depths of divorce, I walked into a therapy appointment with a mouthful of anger, confusion, and questions.

Why couldn’t I change his perspective?!

And that’s when my therapist leaned back in her chair and told me to stop chasing snakes. To focus inward, on healing myself—to own 100% of my 50%.

Now, I hate math more than the average Joe, but this math I especially hated. Because something about this formula implied that I carried some blame for the breakup.

How dare she insinuate I contributed to the breakdown of a marriage that I wanted to save?

But the truth is, even in the most terrible of break ups, even when the villain seems clear—we all have to own 100% of the half we brought into the equation.

Pause.

I know right now that some of my readers are about to delete me forever. Because abusers exist, and so do cheaters, and none of those things can be justified.

But that’s not what this exercise does—it’s not about placing the blame. It’s about accountability—to ourselves. For the hurt that we put our hearts through.

It’s about piecing together the way we were fractured, so that shit never happens again.

Owning 100% of your 50% looks different from person to person. In some cases, it looks like owning your mess and committing to heal and do better. Taking responsibility for immature actions that caused your loved one harm.

In other cases, it looks looks like asking “Why did I let myself stay? Why was I so deeply satisfied with crumbs? Why didn’t I love myself better?”

No matter the reason a divorce takes place, there is wisdom to be gleaned for your future. The person who entered that failed relationship was oblivious to the signs it was failing. Learn how to spot those big red flags that you couldn’t see when you were young. Learn to love yourself in a way that doesn’t hold space for abusive behaviors. Work on healing the half of your marriage that you DID have control over changing.

The half that should’ve done things differently, walked out, or demanded much more. When your heart is crushed and you’re barely surviving, you don’t need to waste time pointing fingers.

Heal the wounds that are actively bleeding and for goodness sake, stop chasing snakes.

#4. Get back to your roots, and you’ll grow.

The first few weeks of my new single life was a blur of perpetual tears. I would cry on the couch, then cry in my bed, then wake up and cry over coffee. Every corner of our house was a trigger. There wasn’t a way to escape it. That family picture in the master bathroom. That old, beat-up hat in the closet. Hallways of smiles that ripped out my heart as I walked to the kitchen each morning.

It would be blasphemy, pulling them down. Putting our marriage in boxes. I knew in my heart that the job should be done, but I just couldn’t make myself do it.

So I kept on drowning, immersed in the memories of a life that was no longer mine. That is, until Momma walked into my house with a hammer and a box full of dishes. For the next few days, I hid under blankets as Momma did what she knew that I couldn’t. She put things in boxes, hung up new pictures, dragged furniture all over the house. And when I emerged from my sob-induced fog, I was standing in a brand new home.

Momma had redecorated every room in the house, top to bottom, complete with clean linens. But the kitchen was definitely her Magnum Opus.

I could tell by the twinkle in her eyes.

“Open the cabinets,” she said with a smile.

I did, and then burst into tears.

Gone were the beige, angled plates from my wedding registry. In their stead, were the plates I grew up with. Pale blue pottery stamped with pictures of farmers along with various animals. At dinner, my siblings and I used to fight over who wanted the dog or the cat or the cow.

“You’re giving me the Hadley?” I couldn’t stop crying.

“I am,” Momma pulled me in close. “I want you to remember where you came from. That way, you can find your way back.”

That month, I felt something shift inside me. Each day as I made my way to the kitchen, I smiled at my Great Uncle Still. He was a famous novelist (River of Earth) and the Poet Laureate of Kentucky.

In the den, a family heirloom collection of the works of Edgar Allen Poe. My grandfather, Doodle, and I shared a love for Poe’s macabre poems and writing. In the study, my Momma had hung up plaques of my professional milestones and accomplishments.

In every corner, a reminder of my roots, an aspiration of what I could reach for.

Before I had a chance to take small steps forward, I had to take a huge trip back—to the person I was before I got married. The dreams, the potential, and yes, even the child.

It was then, when I started watering my roots, that I felt something in me grow.

Just a little spark, but a familiar one. A hint of the girl I once knew.

A few weeks later, at a karaoke bar, that spark met my Titos & soda and next thing you know I was on Facebook live, singing Vampire by Olivia Rodrigo. The comments were hilarious, and mostly supportive, except for Debbie who asked where my kids were. (For the record Deborah, babysitters exist.)

Anyways, that video made its way to a fan of The Unorthodocs—a local rock band with a large following whose singer had recently retired. And I guess that spark had grown juuuust big enough to convince me that I should audition.

Which is how, just six months into divorce, I found myself walking on stage to perform in front of an audience of 10,000 people as an opener for Steve Miller Band.

It’s wild how only a few weeks prior, I couldn’t get up off the couch. I couldn’t find a single external motivation to make me think life was worth living.

…that is, until I looked inside. Until I dug down deep to my roots. Until I remembered the person I was long before that fire inside me went out.

I’m still on my healing journey. My happy ending is unclear. My story doesn’t tie up neatly with a bow, and I’m not about to become some famous rockstar.

But.

What I’ve learned over the last twelve months, is in all of this, I can keep singing. All of that love that I had to give, I could reinvest back in myself.

The truth is, I still have anxiety about the youth that I lost, and the question marks in my future. I’m not going to lie and say I’m excited for the notion of dating in my forties.

But my heart is opening up again. Slowly, it’s coming unfurled.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

Sure, it’s a little uncomfortable.

I still kinda feel like a kid in a desk, waiting for life to begin. But now I know that time is healing, and it takes the time that it takes.

Tick. Tock. Tick. Tock.

I’m finally at peace with the clock.

I’m healing my relationship with God, with myself, with my ex…

and even with Time.