The Manuscript

   What It Really Costs to Leave a Marriage

Most people don’t begin telling their story at the end of something. Yet somehow, that’s where mine begins. If this were a typical story, I would start somewhere happier. A first kiss. A date. A dream written on the pages of an old journal. Perhaps the beginning of a great love story. Instead, I’m starting with a woman who lost herself inside one. A woman who one day looked in the mirror and no longer recognized the person staring back at her. 

Strange place to begin, but this is my manuscript; it was never meant to be a timeline. It’s a collection of moments, questions, observations, and realizations that circle in my mind. Each one a piece of a much larger picture I couldn't see yet. Some are beautiful. Some are painful. Some still don’t make complete sense to me; I'm sure one day they will. Together, they tell the story of a woman slowly finding her way back to herself. Spoiler alert!! three and a half years later, she finally recognizes the woman in the mirror staring back at her. 

I will say it's not an easy decision to leave and end a seventeen-year marriage. In truth, it wasn’t a decision made in a single moment. It was one I wrestled with for years, walking away in my mind more times than I can count, only to return each time carrying hope that this chapter would finally read differently. Somehow, every road led me back to the very place I had been trying to leave.

 Despite what some people may think, it isn’t a choice you make the way you decide what flavour of ice cream you’d like on a Tuesday afternoon. Yet, once you’ve decided, everyone seems to have an opinion. People speak as though you woke up one morning, spun a wheel, landed on “divorce,” and thought, “Well, that sounds like a fun little adventure. Let's go with that."

Unfortunately, it doesn't work like that. It happened slowly..in silence...alone... while my heart had to endure a tremendous amount of pain through a thousand little moments that I spent explaining away, minimizing, or hoping that it would somehow change. Until one day, I realized I wasn’t asking how to fix my life anymore. I was asking myself... "Why was I still willing to live this way?" I sat with that question repeating in my mind for a very long time. If he's not willing to listen, try to work on the relationship. Why do I have to stay in it? After all we vow until death do us part. However, the day came when I looked in the mirror and realized the version of me that made that promise had already died within the marriage.

 After countless mornings searching for her in the mirror, I finally stopped wondering where she had gone and accepted that she wasn't coming back unless I went to find her. One afternoon, I knew it was time when I had tried once again to talk about something I was excited about, and of course, I was dismissed and told he was too tired to talk. A few minutes later the phone rang, and I sat there and watched him have an hour-long conversation with someone else. This happened often, but it was this moment... the moment I realized this would never work, and he would never change because I finally understood that he and I were in two different relationships. He didn't care to talk to me because he didn't actually care to know me. My role was wife, maid, and caregiver for our child. Not entirely his fault, because I accepted that role even though I resented being reduced to only that.

I remember thinking the problem wasn't that he couldn't communicate; he just didn't see any value in doing it with me. After all, that's not the role he signed me up for. I took a minute while staring at this man and thought... I wanted a partnership; he wanted someone who wouldn't question him, someone who remained quiet and followed what they were told, even if it didn't feel right. Two entirely different relationships: I wasn't angry; I wasn't upset anymore. By the time he hung up the phone, that was when my head and my heart finally aligned, and I knew I was done, this time for good. When that moment happens... you'll know it's time to go.

Then comes the realization that the problem isn't just them; it's you. And you might not like to hear this... we humans have a tendency to break our own hearts. I know, crazy, right? Sure, we want to blame it on others. They didn't show up the way we needed; they didn't pay enough attention to us, and when we asked them to change, they wouldn't. But now heres where I hit you with some accountability. 

Did you show up for yourself? Did you make time for you? Doing something you really wanted to do but kept putting it off? When they showed you who they were, did you believe them, or did you convince yourself that they aren't really that bad? And think if I love them more or explain it one more time, they will finally change. I'm not saying you have to take all the blame in any relationship; both partners need to show up and take responsibility. Both need to work through it together. If that doesn't happen, then there comes a point where the relationship is no longer the thing that needs fixing. You do. After all, why are you tolerating something that makes you unhappy? 

We spend so much of our lives being judged by strangers, coworkers, friends, family, and the endless opinions waiting for us online. The world can be loud enough on its own. Our home shouldn't be another place where we have to defend our worth. It's meant to be the one place your heart could rest, where you felt safe enough to fully be yourself. If the person you are building a life with isn’t providing you with comfort and safety, why are you asking yourself to tolerate it? And better yet, why are you listening to the opinions of others telling you should accept it because you're married.

When the relationship is no longer the thing that needs fixing

For years, I believed the relationship itself was the problem. I thought if we communicated better, loved harder, argued less, or explained things more, things would somehow change. What I eventually realized was much harder to accept. You see, the relationship was no longer the thing that needed fixing. You can't fix it when the other person sees nothing wrong with it.

 I was unhappy; I let things go; I followed rules that I thought were unfair. And I cried about it while I watched my partner be okay with how the relationship was because he was the one that benefitted from it.

I suppressed my feelings and put on a smile so everyone would think we were happy. I stopped asking him for help and found things that made me happy to do. I did what I was told; when he needed something from me, I complied, then cried alone. Often imagining what it would be like to have a man comfort me, someone who was gentle and loved me for more than what my body could do for him. And someone who is genuinely concerned that I was struggling. But I spent my days trying to convince myself that this is just how men are and this is just what marriage is like. 

As time went on, I began looking for small ways to reconnect with myself. At the time, I was working as a hairdresser while caring for our daughter, but years of exposure to chemicals were beginning to take a toll on my health. What started as exhaustion slowly became a realization that I needed something more, something that belonged to me.

I began spending more time decorating our home, exploring design, and eventually creating a blog to share the things I loved. At first, it was simply a creative outlet, a place in the world that felt like my own. What I didn’t realize then was that I wasn’t just building a blog—I was slowly finding pieces of myself that were buried beneath years of taking care of everyone else.

After having a blog for a few years, I learned how much I love to write. So I began writing a book, a romance novel... I know someone who has no clue about what it actually feels like to be loved in the right way, write about it. It seems kind of silly, but the truth is, I think I was trying to write my way into a life that felt better than the one I was living. Whenever reality hurt, I would imagine what its opposite might feel like. Then wrapped those moments in a "fairytale" and wrote them into my story. 

Honestly, I don’t think that’s unusual at all. People have always turned to books, movies, and stories as a way to escape reality for a little while. Sometimes we’re entertained by them, and sometimes we’re drawn to them because they reflect something we’re longing for—a sense of adventure, connection, belonging, or a version of love we hope exists somewhere beyond the pages.

Now, this worked for a while. But the thing is, this was not a solution to the problem; it was just a band-aid. And to quote Taylor, "bandaids don't fix bullet holes." You know what does? Surgery, the long, intensive kind, the kind where you have to go deep into the body, fix not only the holes but all the damage it caused. And guess what? The only one who can fix you... is you? This is something you have to repair on your own. Obviously, some help from professionals, books, and podcasts can assist, but we aren't just healing the mind here; we need to heal where all that pain is stored, in the body. And unlike fairy tales, there are no shortcuts through it. Only the slow, often uncomfortable, and lonely process of healing. 

The problem is, I allowed other people to tell me who I was. This went all the way back to my childhood. Being raised by a narcissistic mother, I was always made to believe I was not worthy of good things. I allowed their fears to become my limitations. I allowed their opinions to become louder than my intuition.

The moment my life changed was the moment I took responsibility for that. Not responsible for another person’s choices. Responsibility for my own. For the boundaries I wasn’t enforcing. For the dreams I kept postponing, for the voice inside me I kept asking to be quieter. For the rules I followed, but hated. For the manipulation I tolerated, and for the pain I experienced, but accepted.

Growth requires accountability, and accountability is uncomfortable because it forces us to look at the places where we abandoned ourselves long before anyone else did. Once I started doing that work, everything became clearer. This isn't what marriage is like; this is toxic. Control is not love; it's abuse. And I am no better than the one enforcing it, because I am allowing it to happen, knowing it's hurting me. 

What I’ve learned is that when one person begins the process of growth and the other refuses to examine themselves fully, repairing the relationship becomes next to impossible, and the only option to fully heal yourself is to leave. And I believe it's brave. Because often, many people don't and stay, and I'm sharing my truth to tell you don't have to.  

Healthy relationships thrive on partnership, communication, and a shared willingness to grow. The work is not just about fixing the relationship itself. It is about both people being willing to look inward, take accountability, and do the individual healing required to become better partners. You cannot heal a relationship while refusing to heal yourself. 

Most of us carry wounds from our past, patterns we’ve inherited, and ways of communicating that no longer serve us. The goal isn’t perfection. The goal is to become more aware of those patterns so we can show up differently—for ourselves and for the people we love.

When both people are willing to do the work, the relationship naturally begins to move back into alignment. When only one person is doing it, however, the relationship often remains stuck in the very patterns that created the distance in the first place. Ultimately, healing is an individual responsibility. A relationship can only grow as much as the people within it are willing to grow themselves.

Once you see it, you can't go back. 

The moment you see it, trust me, you won't be able to go back. It's like a domino effect; you suddenly see the disrespect once clearly, and then you see it everywhere. The more you heal, the more you realize what you have been allowing; the more you work on becoming a better version of yourself, the more you start to see how you tolerate things, not just in your marriage but in all relationships. Friends, family, and coworkers. I found that when you change your inner world for the better, your entire outer world changes too. And you will lose people, especially the ones who benefited from you being unhealed.

It’s hard carrying the emotional labour in a relationship while also juggling work, household responsibilities, and the role of primary caregiver, especially when you feel like there is no one to talk to and no one supporting your emotional needs. 

That kind of weight doesn’t disappear when the day is over. It follows you into every conversation, every disagreement, and every unmet need. Over time, the pressure can become overwhelming. And once you see how much you are carrying, it becomes difficult to unsee it. I think this is often the moment people mistake for resentment. But before resentment comes realization.

The realization that you have been carrying more than your share far too long. The realization that you have spent so much time taking care of everyone else that you stopped noticing how exhausted you had become. What begins as love can slowly turn into responsibility. You keep taking on more, then a little more until you realize you are holding the weight of a relationship that was never meant to rest on one person's shoulders.

The cost of abandoning yourself

The cost of abandoning yourself doesn't happen immediately. At first, it looks like a compromise. Then it looks like swallowing your feelings because you’re tired of repeating yourself. Over time, you just learn to stay quiet. 

 And little by little, you lose pieces of yourself. What little confidence you had. Your voice. Your sense of worth. The things that once made you feel alive, don't make you feel anything anymore. You begin to feel numb to it. Like, what's the point of speaking, feeling anything, when the hamster wheel, cycle is just going to keep repeating. You want to get out of it, but you don't know how. The one person who vowed to love, protect, and honour you, can only love in the way they themselves understand. Your mind becomes crowded with someone else's thoughts and opinions of who you are; your heart strains trying to find a steady rhythm that no longer fits.

 For me, soon I started noticing it in my body. The stress, the exhaustion, the constant feeling of carrying more than I could hold eventually began showing up physically. I wasn’t just tired emotionally. I was tired everywhere, and it was showing in my body. 

Looking back, I think my body was carrying everything I wasn’t saying out loud. The resentment. The grief. The loneliness. The disappointment. The frustration. When the people closest to us repeatedly dismiss our needs, we often start dismissing them too. And I think that’s the greatest cost of all. Not just losing the relationship. But losing yourself. And control of what is happening within our bodies. Not only was my mind struggling, but my nervous system was too. 

Years of stress eventually began showing up in ways I could no longer ignore. I developed food sensitivities, experienced fluctuations in my weight, struggled with my health, and often felt disconnected from my own body. At the time, I didn’t fully understand what was happening. Looking back now, I think my body was sounding an alarm long before my mind was willing to listen.

I think sometimes we misunderstand what it means to leave someone. We see separation as failure. Divorce as something broken. The ending of a relationship as proof that two people somehow failed each other. But what if sometimes separation is the very thing that gives both people the opportunity to become who they were meant to be? When you stay in a relationship where you have become someone’s emotional punching bag, you are not only abandoning pieces of yourself to survive the relationship—you may also be unintentionally taking part in a cycle that allows the other person to remain exactly where they are.

You keep asking them to change. Explaining what you need. Hoping they will finally hear you. Trying to convince them to become the person you know they are capable of being. And eventually, you have to understand that their growth is not your responsibility. Sometimes leaving is the moment you hand that responsibility back to them. You remove yourself from the place where their pain has somewhere else to land, and you finally give yourself the space to heal from carrying it. What they choose to do with the space your absence creates is entirely up to them. They may grow. They may not.

But you are no longer standing between them and the consequences of who they have chosen to be. And perhaps that is one of the things we misunderstand most about endings. Sometimes separation does not destroy two people. Sometimes it is the first real opportunity for both of them to become better ones.

Finding the way back 

What I have learned over the past 3 years is that the way out is a long, grueling process. If there was no partnership before, there certainly won't be one while you are navigating your exit. If there was control, there would likely be control throughout the separation. If there was manipulation, expect manipulation and times it by ten. In my experience, people won't support you. Most believe marriage should be preserved at all costs, regardless of whether it's healthy for the people in it or not. Before you know it, your entire world of people will be on the opposing side, claiming you are the problem. Let them. Stay quiet; focus on your way out.

After all, if you are being controlled, manipulated, or abused, yet people continue to blame you for wanting a healthier life, they are unintentionally reinforcing the very cycle that harmed you in the first place. And you don't need people like that in your life.

I know it's not fair, but ignore the noise. Trust me, there will be a lot. After all, if the people that you once loved believe you are the problem but never ask your side, then they have already picked the side they wanted to be on. This is where you focus on yourself, and if you have children, them too. Focus on healing, a way out, what you want your life to look like, and who you need to become to make that happen. Stay grounded and grateful for every experience. Breathe through the challenges.

Say less, do more. When you've already had the same conversation a hundred times, the answer is rarely another conversation. Brace for impact; in my experience, the exit was worse than marriage. Prepare to lose everything you worked hard for. Stay focused and keep moving forward. The process of leaving and rebuilding your life is long, but you are not the first person to walk this path, and you won't be the last. If others have found their way through it, so can you. 

The final step in healing after divorce: letting go

The final part, and perhaps the hardest part, is forgiveness. Not because what happened was okay, and not because it didn't hurt, but because carrying anger only keeps you tied to a chapter that has already ended. Be grateful for the moments of happiness. Grateful for the lessons. Grateful for the person you became because of them.

And this is a hard one: be grateful for what they could do and focus less on what they couldn't.

And finally, forgive yourself. Forgive yourself for not seeing it sooner. Forgive yourself for staying longer than you wish you had. Forgive yourself for the pieces you lost along the way. 

And after all that healing, you slowly begin again. You will rediscover things that make you feel alive. You will learn what your boundaries are and what you will never tolerate in a relationship again. You see life through a different lens now. And how much better you and your children thrive in peaceful homes with parents who are healing.

Then, slowly over time, the breaths you take in become deeper. And one day you will see yourself in the mirror, probably when you are cleaning toothpaste spit your kids leave because spitting in the sink is too difficult. Ahhhh! Sorry, I'm still working on healing, lol. Now where was I... oh, yeah. One day, you will look in the mirror and recognize yourself again. And honey, there's something magical about finally coming home to the person you thought you'd lost forever. 

Thank you for spending a little time in my library. Wherever life takes you next, I hope you never stop choosing yourself. Until our stories find each other again... keep turning the page. 

What it really costs to leave a marriage 

The Manuscript |Reflections on healing, self-discovery, and new beginnings.

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