The Quiet Divorce

I recently read Jenna Ryu’s article in The Washington Post about “quiet divorce,” and I experienced one of those uncomfortable moments of instant self-recognition.

Quiet divorce? I had done that, too.

Two years into a bad marriage, I had begun to shut down emotionally. I didn’t pack a suitcase, hire a lawyer, or announce that I was finished. Something far quieter happened. After living with a cruel and abusive man, something inside me simply gave way.

On paper, I remained married. I went through the motions, managed the household, and carried on with daily life. Emotionally, however, I had already left.

At the time, I wouldn’t have called it a quiet divorce. I probably wouldn’t have given it a name at all. I was simply trying to survive an abusive marriage, hoping that if I endured enough, prayed enough, or gave enough, something would eventually change.

But a bone-deep exhaustion comes from trying to salvage a relationship when I was beginning to realize that continuing to try might be the end of me. It meant more bruises, more gaslighting, more humiliation, and more of myself chipped away until I barely recognized the woman staring back at me in the mirror.