Divorce Shame: I Wasn't Protecting My Marriage. I Was Protecting My Shame
I recorded a podcast episode this week that was harder than I expected.
Even now, years later, talking about some of those memories still makes me physically uncomfortable. I found myself getting nauseous while I was recording, and there were a few moments where I had tears in my eyes.
I've talked about my divorce for years. I've shared the legal stuff, the custody stuff, the financial stuff. But there are still parts of my marriage that I don't talk about very often because they carry a different kind of weight.
I think most people assume the shame comes after divorce. You're embarrassed that your marriage ended or worried about what other people think.
That wasn't my experience.
The shame came years before I ever got divorced.
I spent a long time pretending everything was okay when it wasn't.
One of the things I shared on the podcast was that my marriage had no intimacy. None. Even writing those words makes me uncomfortable.
I never told anyone.
When I'd go out with friends and conversations turned to marriage or sex, I'd laugh along and let everyone assume my life looked like theirs. I didn't correct anyone. I didn't tell the truth. I just played the part because admitting what was actually happening felt humiliating.
Looking back, I realize I wasn't really ashamed that my marriage didn't have intimacy. I was ashamed of what I believed that said about me.
I thought maybe I wasn't attractive enough. Maybe I wasn't lovable enough. Maybe there was something wrong with me.
I carried those thoughts around for years.
But that wasn't the only thing I hid.
I didn't tell people how lonely I was. I didn't tell them how much time I spent trying to avoid conflict. I didn't tell them how often I replayed conversations in my head afterward, wondering if I had said something wrong or if I could have handled it differently.
There were times when I would rehearse conversations before I even had them because I was so afraid of saying the wrong thing. At the time, I didn't even realize how much of my life was being driven by fear.
When people hear the words emotional abuse, they often picture screaming or explosive fights. That wasn't my experience.
For me, it was much quieter.
It was slowly losing confidence in my own judgment. It was second-guessing myself all the time. It was apologizing for things that weren't really mine to apologize for. It was feeling like I had to carefully manage other people's reactions while ignoring my own feelings.
The hard part is that it happened so gradually that I didn't see it.
I thought this was just marriage.
I thought this was just life.
I also carried a lot of shame about how much of myself I had lost.
People saw me smiling. They saw me making funny videos online. They saw me raising my kids, running a business, and checking all the boxes. From the outside, everything looked fine.
Inside, I felt like I was barely holding it together.
I think that's one of the reasons shame is so powerful.
It doesn't just convince you to hide what's happening.
It convinces you to hide yourself.
You start editing everything. You edit your answers when people ask how you're doing. You edit your weekends into stories that sound normal. You stop saying what you're actually thinking because you're afraid of what people will conclude if they know the truth.
Eventually, you don't even recognize how much you've edited yourself.
Years later, I developed panic disorder.
People sometimes ask me what caused it, and I honestly don't think there's one simple answer. Mental health is complicated, and everyone's story is different.
But when I look back at my own life, I can't ignore the years I spent living in survival mode.
I ignored my stress. I minimized my pain. I convinced myself I was okay because it felt easier than facing what wasn't okay.
At some point, my body stopped cooperating with that story.
I remember an ER physician telling me that panic attacks can sometimes be your body's way of waving a red flag that something needs attention. That conversation stayed with me because it helped me stop seeing my body as the enemy. Instead, I started wondering if it had been trying to protect me all along.
The biggest realization I had while recording this week's episode was something I wish I had understood years ago.
I thought I was protecting my marriage.
I thought I was protecting my family.
I thought I was protecting everyone around me from uncomfortable truths.
I wasn't.
I was protecting my shame.
And the longer I protected it, the more power it had over me.
If any part of this sounds familiar, I hope you'll stop being so hard on yourself.
You don't have to pretend your life is okay if it isn't.
You don't have to carry the weight of someone else's behavior as proof that there's something wrong with you.
And you don't have to figure all of this out by yourself.
You Don't Have to Do This Alone
If you're in the middle of divorce—or you're just beginning to realize your marriage isn't what you hoped it would be—I created the Divorce Crash Course because I know how overwhelming this season can be.
It walks you through the legal, financial, and parenting decisions that can have a lasting impact on your future, so you can move forward with more confidence and fewer costly mistakes.
The course is normally $150, but it's available for $50 thanks to our angel underwriters, Our Family Wizard and Soberlink.
If this post resonated with you, I also hope you'll listen to this week's podcast episode. It was one of the hardest episodes I've ever recorded, but I think it's also one of the most honest.
Because the truth is, shame grows in silence.
And sometimes the first step toward feeling better isn't solving every problem.
Sometimes it's simply telling yourself the truth.