Category Archives: Healing

Beyond giving supporting counsel, the fundamental purpose of this site is to heal us from the pains of divorce. It’s one thing to be validated in our feelings but to still feel anger, resentment, and pain. When we are ready we need to let ourselves be healed of the actions of others. Yes, that even means being healed of the pain. And as hard as it maybe to read, that also means your ex spouse needs to be healed of the pains you inflicted.

Dos and Don’ts of Divorce

Unlike most posts, this will deal not with the divorcé, but with the one comforting a divorcé.

All those having gone through divorce should succor those going through it. It’s a good way for us to heal. We bear another’s burdens and at the same time we learn we’re not alone, and we both are lifted.

There are things to do and not do when you put your arm around a fellow divorcé (or even divrocée, as we can comfort them, too). It’s easy to have the attitude of “I know exactly how you feel! My ex this-or-that and I this-or-that,” But those of us hurting don’t need preachers. We know our failings well, we know (or think we know) the failings of our ex, and we don’t need someone to add fuel to the fire, even if we may want our world ablaze in anger and blaming.

So here are some dos and don’ts for us divorcés (and other listening in) when we are comforting another starting the walk down the road of divorce.

Don’ts

  • Don’t assume you have to talk.
    A hug or an understanding look, a how-are-you or a few minutes to listen, are often more than words.
  • Don’t tell your own grief story unless you’re asked, and don’t go off on a long rant.
    If you do tell your story, make it tasteful and with the intent to lift and validate, not start a bonfire.
  • Don’t offer advice.
    … except carefully. Perhaps share what worked for you if you’re divorced, but don’t prescribe and preach (especially if you’ve never been divorced!).
  • Don’t brush off any feelings that may be expressed, even if foreign to you.

Dos

  • Recognize there is intense grief at the loss of a relationship, dreams, plans, potentially a home, the noise and bustle of a family, and usually the ability to see children as in the past. There is a loss of control and input into your family’s activities.
    It is like losing a loved one–in fact we have lost a loved one, someone we do or at least did love, and lost the daily relationship with our children. Some say divorce is worse than death—and I do. Having lost my mother, a sister, and a son, the loss of my marriage and intact family has been more traumatic. Every return of my children to their mother and the home I used to live in (for many of us) is a loss all over again, a reminder and a reopening of a wound.
  • Give full, focused attention.
    And make that attention real and feel it in your soul.
  • Invite to activities, to church, and to whatever seems appropriate.
    Divorcés hunger for companionship, and often seek the wrong kind of companionship, and too early. There is intense loneliness and a feeling of loss of self-worth.
  • Ask if you can come visit. Or just go visit.
    People, even family and friends, tend to stay away from divorced men. The ones that could support you most are often the most distant. (During the first two years of my own divorce, the most difficult time, I recall only one visitor that I didn’t invite, my ex’s brother and sister-in-law. Even my sisters, brother, parents and friends never showed their faces. I hope that’s not typical.)
  • Allow sharing of honest feelings, including anger to God and church and ex.
  • Share your own feelings and words of love and caring.
  • Give a little gift, such as a basket of fruit or something simple or meaningful.
    That item may become cherished and a reminder of your caring.
  • Pray for the person, and to know what to say and do, and how often.

How do we forgive?

See Elder Kevin R. Duncan’s, “The Healing Ointment of forgiveness.”

This morning I felt to open up the conference Ensign and flip through the pages until I felt to stop. My finger fell upon this article. What struck me most to me was the thought that I could be healed from the pain. What does it mean to be healed of the pain, and yet to remember? We hear often that we need to remember the past so we don’t repeat the mistakes. But how do we remember without feeling pain? Is that possible?!? How do you forgive someone when you are in the middle of the experience? Could Corrie ten Boom forgive her captors while she was in the concentration camp? Perhaps years later when feelings weren’t raw and she wasn’t in the midst of the cruel treatment?

Over recent months I’ve felt the need to forgive. But I don’t think my ex would even consider that she’d done anything that required someone to forgive her. Were I to tell her I forgive her, she would be confused. Is it still required to forgive in order to clear my plate, and create for me the freedom of her control over my feelings and thoughts.

Then my children come to visit and I’m reminded of the pain of having to say goodbye to my children when visiting hours are over. A continual reminder of her decision that broke up our family. How do I forgive with the offense is repeated weekly, or seems to be? Every child visit, every paycheck that has her fingers in it, every sorrow seems to be tied to her past decision.

Carl

Abraham

A number of months ago I was reminiscing about the time since I’d been divorced. “Reminisce” is the wrong word. That makes it sound like I was dreaming about the good ol’ days. “Day dreaming?” Ha! I don’t think so. “Having a nightmare?” No. ☺ But I was wondering what I’d learned and where I was compared to where I began at the time of separation from my wife.

I wonder if this will be hard to hear or believe: I confessed to myself that I’d actually progressed. I’m not saying separation and divorce was good, nor right, nor that I thought it should have happened and that my wife was right in seeking divorce. But just like the stone in the riverbed, rolling and rubbing against other stones and sand over dozens of years, it becomes smooth and beautiful. I know that if I will let them, hard times make me a better man. (I don’t want women who might be reading this to think divorce is OK because it makes men better, especially considering the negative effects on innocent children caught in the middle!) But aside from the evils of divorce in most cases, or whatever the hardship, these times can make us better men … if we will let them.

Something during that time of “reminiscing” over a week-or-so period led me to consider and ponder Abraham. The comparison is not perfect, because Abraham’s test was given to him by the Lord, carefully crafted to see if he would remain faithful to the word of God that came to him, to sacrifice his son. But it’s terribly close. And regardless of the source of the test, from God or brought upon us by the choice of others, how we respond to the test proves our mettle.

Personally I was far from perfect during that time. And I still am. I am a failure. And I failed continually. I have at many times been angry, lost, inconsolable, and a dozen other unmentionable adjectives, each of which my Father in Heaven was not pleased with. But I tried. As Maria in The Sound of Music said, “Perhaps I had a wicked childhood, perhaps I had a miserable youth, but somewhere in my wicked, miserable past, …I must have done something good.” Something in my past, in my upbringing by “goodly parents,” told me that I would be happier in the long run if I remained faithful to the truths of the gospel that I’d been taught.

I cannot describe the difficulties and awkwardness of that time. I had made a commitment to my Father in Heaven to remain active in the church, regardless of the embarrassment or what I thought others might think. Ours is a family religion, and although it’s quite acceptable to be a single woman, that’s from from so for single men. This time was I dare say the hardest thing I’ve done in my life. Being a somewhat quiet person anyway, I decided to go to every function that I’d have gone to as a married man: Sunday church, all my meetings, church parties, wedding receptions (that’s one of the toughest!!), church cleaning, welfare assignments, home teaching, whatever came up. I got numerous awkward interactions and odd looks, blank stares, and conversations that were worse than a first blind date. But I kept in the back of my head that I was doing all of this solely for me and my relationship with my Father in Heaven. (All of those that had awkwardness being around me had their own issues to deal with, and as long as I was cordial and saintly, well, at least as best I could be, perhaps I’d be a catalyst to help them learn to overcome their issues with single men, to help them repent so to speak, although that’s only a thought I have now in hindsight, not something I could consider then.)

And beyond the awkwardness, the pain of being removed from my children, well, you all know what that’s like. Words can’t describe being separated from those you love and for whom God planted in your heart a natural instinct and desire to protect and provide for. My wife and I lost a child at birth, and the two years following until our next child was born were some of the darkest and hardest. But to be teased and taunted week after week with short visits and then long separations from my children, I’ve thought more than once that either I’d rather give up and not see my children anymore, or kidnap them. But I knew in my heart that neither would be good for the children, just a selfish desire on my part.

OK, so back to Abraham. I believe that for those of us in this life that profess to love God, we will have an Abrahamic experience. And the difficulty of that experience will be commensurate to our faith and trust in God. The more trust and faith in God we have, the more difficult the experience we will be presented. And, we will have repeated experiences, some small, some larger, to test our commitment along our mortal path. Sometimes I wish I were a swearin’ man. Must life be this difficult! Yes, it’s part of the “test” of this life, a probationary period. Ha! Now there’s a nice analogy. I’ve often compared divorce to prison in regards to our separation from our children and wife. Are we all on probation in this life? That might be fun to try writing about sometime.

I find the similarity with Abraham’s and our experiences surprisingly similar in many respects. Both have to do with what we care for most, our families. And similarly, Abraham and we have sons removed from us, although not permanently. Ours is a painful week-after-week manner as we see them once or twice a week (whereas we used to seem them every night and tuck them into bed). Hmmm. At least Abraham got his son back. When do I get my sons (and daughters) back?

My heart goes out to Abraham. My heart goes out to you, my brothers.

Carl