Loriann Hoff Oberlin - Surviving Separation And Divorce

Back in 1995, upon the release of my first book, our metropolitan paper profiled me in what was a widely read column. I was excited not only for the book's publicity, but because my husband, at that time, never missed reading it. For his eyes and the world's, I'd listed among my greatest accomplishments the work I'd put into our marriage and family. And whom would I most want to have dinner with? Besides listing Fred Rogers and Hillary Clinton, I had listed my husband.

You can imagine how foolish and devastated I felt when two weeks later I learned things that shattered my idea of a happy marriage. If you're like me, you'll never forget the precise moment you realized your marriage was pretty much over, at least in the sense you knew it. Close friends remember the date. I called one at 5 A.M., having failed to cry myself to sleep that night. My doctor remembered the crisis, for I ran to her with my fears, and my minister found me in his office on his first day back from summer vacation. It felt as if my world had hit a meteor, with pieces of my life spinning out of control.

When I first wrote Surviving Separation and Divorce, some women wrote to me to say that they, too, felt shocked, numb, puzzled, used, and angry as their dreams were blown away. They connected to the heartache that occurs when you find yourself alone, never truly understanding why, and wondering what if circumstances were different.

A decade has passed since this juncture in my life. After two and a half years, that separation ended in divorce. I took the time I needed to process the changes that had occurred in my life and to focus on helping my children cope as well. Eventually, I ventured onto the dating scene, enjoying the chance to meet new people. Admittedly, it was a little daunting, but one of the first few men I went out with shares my life today. We've been married for several years, but I've never lost touch with those emotions and experiences that first helped shape me into the woman I am today.

In fact, I don't want to lose these memories completely. I remember well my doubts of fitting in. I felt a little helpless at changing realities that I did not want in my life. I was afraid of what the future even the next day might bring. I remember the sharp pain, unanswered questions, and heavy responsibilities shifted onto my shoulders for my sons who were the tender ages of seven and two. My oldest son had looked forward to a successful start in first grade, and my youngest, born severely premature, had just been diagnosed with gross motor delays that would years later be confirmed as cerebral palsy. They had special needs. I had special needs; I'd lost fifteen pounds and sought help for my anxiety and depression, which had been precipitated by revelations, realizations, and the marital breakdown. Even the house had special needs. That winter we experienced record snowfall, and come spring, I added lawn care to my burgeoning to do list. Financial considerations loomed large, since we had made the mutual decision during our marriage that I would cut back my career to care for the children. Personal safety soon surfaced as another concern.

I realized that I couldn't change the situation at hand; I had to change. It took therapy, as well as good, honest friends to reveal my codependency in a troubled, unhealthy relationship. It took some tough phone calls, consultations from lawyers and counselors at the women's center and shelter, and discussions with the police about my rights. I even asked a friend to go to night court with me when I felt sufficiently afraid.

Gradually I started to see positive aspects of the breakup. In just a few weeks of separation, I started to breathe freely again. I saw beauty instead of ugliness, hope instead of despair, and a calm household rather than a rage-filled one. I found strength within myself and companionship with my children and friends friends who offered objectivity, insight, and encouragement. Mind you, they didn't always tell me what I wanted to hear; they told me what I needed to hear, most importantly. Sometimes, I simply enjoyed the newfound solitude and time to myself. Moments of abysmal loneliness were now reframed as opportunities. I accomplished tasks that had at first seemed too difficult. Patience won out over quick fixes. A can-do attitude guided each day, and I began to dream rather than ruminate.