A bad day in divorceland

According to the widely accepted authority on death and dying (pun absolutely intended), Elizabeth Kubler-Ross, there are five stages of grief.

Her original model was modified to include Shock and Testing.

They are rarely linear, and people often cycle through them or jump from one to another. Often, it looks or feels a lot more like this:

When she came out with this theory in the sixties, it was strictly applied to death in the literal sense of the word. Since then, people have realized that grief is grief. Loss, in all its forms, generates feelings of grief. What is divorce if not loss?

Loss of security, future, plans,  family,  friend,  partner.

I have had a long time to cycle through these phases of grief; longer than I initially thought. When I look back, this progression started a lot earlier than the arrival of our children. The arrival of our children. That phrase does not do the last year justice. The arrival of two traumatized little humans hell-bent on surviving in this world. It was like a tornado ripping through a trailer park. They were the tornado and our life and relationship was the trailer park.

I began asking him to go to therapy five years ago. The first four years were for denial and bargaining. The last year was for my ball of yarn up there, with February being the start of testing, dialogue, bargaining, and finally…most recently…acceptance.

However, for my husband, this is all just starting. Today was not a good day for me in divorce land. His shock is passing, and he is progressing into denial, anger, and bargaining as we progress through this process towards a final decision. He keeps saying he is sorry, and that he is trying. I appreciate that, I really do. It was enough for the first four years. He seems to be having difficulty grasping my emotionless state. It hurts him that this decision is not accompanied by anger and tears; that I am not a visual reflection of his devastation. As if my begging, entreaties, tears, and earnest confessions regarding my limits in the last five years were not part of this whole mess. But I did my crying. I am sure there will be more tears, more anger, but I did not make this decision from a rash place of emotional highs and lows. I passed through that into a state of resignation and acceptance before coming to this determination.

On a more practical note, I applied for a job a week ago. It was a one-off, just happenstance that I saw it as I browsed through Indeed. I needed to see what I was qualified for locally that did not entail so much travel. I was trying to wrap my head around what was out there and what my life as a divorced mother with (potentially) sole custody might look like. My friend, who told me a few months ago that my reasoning for leaving didn’t have to be black and white, that being unhappy could be enough, encouraged me to apply. I’m not sure that I am entirely ready to switch jobs yet. Waiting until I am ready to move once we sell the house next spring would have been better timing. It would have afforded me more latitude with location. Though there is nothing to say I could not change jobs again next year. For someone who has only worked for one company in the workforce for the last 8.5 years, the idea of such job-hopping feels like something a crazy person does. Though by this time next year, I may be a crazy person.

Regardless, I didn’t think they would even call, but they did call for a phone screening tonight. Out of the blue. They wanted me to come in for a first round interview tomorrow. I declined, because it conflicted with my therapy appointment, and right now, that sounds like a priority. However, they are going to get back to me with alternate interview slots. It would be a 20% pay cut, which is huge if I am suddenly considering striking it out on my own with my two children and all the expenses of a single mother. However, it is less travel. At the very least, it could be a bargaining chip going into my meeting at HQ next week.