Question of the day: I’ve finally told my ex I want to get divorced and now I'm living with a lot of regret that I didn't say it sooner. How do I handle the regret?

Question of the day:

I’ve finally told my ex I want to get divorced and now I'm living with a lot of regret that I didn't say it sooner. How do I handle the regret?

This is a very common phenomenon for my clients. After years of deliberating whether to get divorced, they decide to proceed. And once they do, they begin to fully take in the horrific behavior that they've tolerated for a very long time. Only with a little distance does it become crystal clear. And with a little distance, people can see their situation in the full light of day. This clarity is often very painful because with clear eyes they feel excruciating pain knowing they lived with being mistreated, often emotionally mistreated and of course sometimes physically, and now on top of the punishment of having to live through that bad behavior, they criticize themselves for not having left the marriage sooner.

What do I give as my advice in this scenario? It's quite simple. Forgive yourself. Please forgive yourself. If you could have done anything differently you would have done it differently. No one enters marriage hoping that the marriage will end. Oftentimes, when in a relationship with an unhealthy dynamic, one party, and I can speak for myself in this case, thinks that they can make it better on their own by behaving differently saying different things taking different actions. It is only after years of trial and error that one can conclude that there is nothing to do to make the situation better, that the situation is simply no longer sustainable. I often see people in regret that their children have seen their marriage as an example of a marriage when in fact it is an example of what a marriage should not be like. This pain often propels people to make the decision to end a marriage for sure. In addition, and this was true in my case, I was truly terrified that if I stayed, I would get sick from the stress and that my children would not have a mom. So, while I stayed because I wanted to be a seven day a week mom, ultimately, I was afraid if I stayed, I might get sick and die and then they wouldn't have a mom.

But how exactly does one forgive oneself? What are the actions, the conversations, the habits that add up to self-forgiveness? I think leading with loving kindness towards oneself is the best tool I can think of. At the point that you have taken the actions needed to exit your marriage; you should be kind to yourself for having done what may be the hardest thing you will ever have to do in your entire life. People avoid divorce for many reasons – often which are driven by fear. Economic fear. Fear of the unknown. Fear of retaliation. Fear of the impact on children or a spouse. All understandable, legitimate concerns. So, at the point you've made the decision, please, please be kind to yourself. And here are some specific examples of what a person who is kind to themselves says:

I did the best I could at the time.

I am proud of myself for taking action NOW.

I know I did everything possible to make the marriage work.

I love myself and am proud of my courage. (This one has taken me a long time to own – I now have it written in Sharpie on my bathroom mirror offering daily reminders).

You get to hold this message steady within yourself: you are brave and are taking the next right actions to reclaim your life and to be an example to your children of how to take charge. And, you are also saying to yourself and everyone around you that it is never too late to be brave.

You will need and deserve a lot of support in this journey. Whether it is from friends, family, counselors or spiritual support, it is unrealistic to think that you can change your thinking by yourself. I am here to tell you, though, that one day at a time, your thinking can and will change - that self-forgiveness is possible - and that every aspect of your life will bloom and expand from that process.

mbg@melindabgould.com