Heal me Today

Today I’m writing what is probably the hardest post I’ve ever shared. In fact, I think it’s even harder than the one where I wrote about separating from my husband.

Today was the day—our divorce hearing.

It lasted only about 45 minutes. Since we had submitted all the required documents and had already reached an agreement on everything important, the court accepted our arrangements. The judge explained all the legal formalities, informed us of our rights and responsibilities, and then delivered the final decision.

Today, our marriage officially ended.

I’ve carried a heavy heart all day, and there’s one thing I want to say to anyone going through something similar.

Even when you think you’ve accepted it.
Even when you believe you’ve already moved on.

This day is never easy.

It hurts.

Even though I know I wouldn’t want to live with him anymore.
Even though I know I no longer love him.
Even though I know there was no future left for us together.

It’s still the end of a chapter that lasted 22 years… and ended in just 45 minutes.

That hurts more than I can describe.

Maybe it’s symbolic that on July 1st one chapter closed forever while another began. Today I officially became a divorced woman, and I can finally start living my own life without the weight of a marriage that had long since stopped working.

The thing I feared most was the court hearing itself. I didn’t know what to expect or what would be said.

My now ex-husband even joked with the judge during the hearing. It felt inappropriate to me. He has always said that he hides his fear, anxiety, and uncertainty behind humor, so perhaps that was his way of coping. I, on the other hand, answered only the judge’s questions and never looked at him once.

At the end, he asked whether everything was already official. The judge corrected him, explaining that it would only become legally final once all the official paperwork had been completed. I couldn’t help feeling how eager he was to have it all over with.

Before the hearing, while we were waiting outside the courtroom, I could already feel tears filling my eyes. He came over, asked me why I was crying, and told me not to cry. I simply looked at him in disbelief. I couldn’t understand how he could be the one asking me why I was crying.

I held myself together with everything I had.

When we left the courthouse, I wished him a nice vacation with our daughter and walked to my car.

The moment I sat behind the steering wheel, I finally let go.

I cried.

He must have seen me because he came back, opened the car door, and tried to comfort me. I had neither the strength nor the desire to say anything. He asked if he should leave. I couldn’t even answer. The only thing I managed to say was, “Please say hello to our daughter.”

Then he left.

About an hour later, he texted me asking me to let him know when I got home safely. Out of courtesy, I replied once I was home.

And what am I trying to say through all of this?

That even the final moments of our marriage were just like everything that came before.

Painful.

Closing a chapter doesn’t mean the pain disappears overnight.

I believe that whenever I think about our marriage, there will always be a part of me that feels sad. Not because I want him back. Not because I regret the decision.

But because I couldn’t keep our family together.

And I think that is something I will carry with me for a very long time.