I was expecting much much worse! Forgive yourself. Throwing a screwgun is pretty minor in the big scheme of things. Rage needs to be expressed, not suppressed.
Excellent writing and I relate hugely to all of this. You capture so many of the feelings I've experienced myself and lay them out. The ending is especially perfect.
Rage needs an outlet. I expected you to do violence to the house in a Girl with the Dragon Tattoo kind of way. And you were so modulated, so contrite afterwards.
My ex carried his rage throughout time. I fear he might transport it into the next life. I ask myself this simple question: why does he choose to stir the pot of the dregs? In cooking one adds liquid and the dregs become fond and flavor the sauce. What he has going is burnt through and through, the scorch and its stench.
My best efforts are to turn away as much as possible. Sometimes the actual burning smell is there for me. But seldom now. It has been 37 years since he threw me into a wall and I walked out the door with the clothes I was wearing.
Joyce this is so honest and beautifully told. I relate 100 percent. Especially love how gentle and yet honest you are with yourself. Needed this today.
I was the one who wanted OUT. I was saving for a rainy day. When it came, there was a raging storm
He suited me for custody ( one year) & lost. Drove my car over a cliff. Hired a criminal attorney (4 years of no shows & court) Dragged my elderly parents through the courts
In those yrs, I met someone & we married a wk after the divorce( married 40 yrs)
At weddings & events involving “our” children, he refused to acknowledge me when I would congratulate him on our offspring
When he passed all his ex’s were at the funeral but I was asked not to attend
Of everything of yours I have ever read, this piece hit the hardest. I was in the midst of a take-no-prisoners divorce that lasted for ten years and had just had a baby (second and current husband) so those hormones were surging. I could absolutely identify with the sentiments that led you to do this, and would have done the same with my ex (except in his case it would have been his computer, and if you remember desktops in the 90s, they were hard to budge, much less toss) if I had had the chance.
We all tell ourselves we're going to keep it civil for our kids, but our words cannot muffle the anger boiling inside (yes, of course I was in therapy) and they felt it Some of that scorched earth remains barren.
Maybe she could have, and chose not to. When my first husband and I separated, I was the one who walked. The house held such unpleasant memories for me, I knew I would never live there again.
From one divorcee to another: Throwing a screw gun into bushes is better than hurling hateful words that you can't take back.
let's not forget all the possible meanings of "screw gun."
I LOVE this essay and teach it often. Brilliant.
Good to see you here, Andrea!
Even 36 years after my painful divorce, such strong feelings of hurt and pain and anger can still grip me at times........so unexpectedly.
It feels like a death, but hardly anyone else ever sees it that way.
I was expecting much much worse! Forgive yourself. Throwing a screwgun is pretty minor in the big scheme of things. Rage needs to be expressed, not suppressed.
Life is sometimes hard. Look how far you’ve come
Excellent writing and I relate hugely to all of this. You capture so many of the feelings I've experienced myself and lay them out. The ending is especially perfect.
Divorce is like death - but with email.
I get it! For me the worst part was driving by and realizing it just wasn’t my house anymore- I wasn’t welcome.
Rage needs an outlet. I expected you to do violence to the house in a Girl with the Dragon Tattoo kind of way. And you were so modulated, so contrite afterwards.
My ex carried his rage throughout time. I fear he might transport it into the next life. I ask myself this simple question: why does he choose to stir the pot of the dregs? In cooking one adds liquid and the dregs become fond and flavor the sauce. What he has going is burnt through and through, the scorch and its stench.
My best efforts are to turn away as much as possible. Sometimes the actual burning smell is there for me. But seldom now. It has been 37 years since he threw me into a wall and I walked out the door with the clothes I was wearing.
The reverberating heartbreak of divorce.
Joyce this is so honest and beautifully told. I relate 100 percent. Especially love how gentle and yet honest you are with yourself. Needed this today.
I used to love your column when you wrote truths like this. My husband always read you on Saturdays back when we were both young.
My ex carried his rage to the grave
We produced 3 exceptional sons
I was the one who wanted OUT. I was saving for a rainy day. When it came, there was a raging storm
He suited me for custody ( one year) & lost. Drove my car over a cliff. Hired a criminal attorney (4 years of no shows & court) Dragged my elderly parents through the courts
In those yrs, I met someone & we married a wk after the divorce( married 40 yrs)
At weddings & events involving “our” children, he refused to acknowledge me when I would congratulate him on our offspring
When he passed all his ex’s were at the funeral but I was asked not to attend
So sad😢
Of everything of yours I have ever read, this piece hit the hardest. I was in the midst of a take-no-prisoners divorce that lasted for ten years and had just had a baby (second and current husband) so those hormones were surging. I could absolutely identify with the sentiments that led you to do this, and would have done the same with my ex (except in his case it would have been his computer, and if you remember desktops in the 90s, they were hard to budge, much less toss) if I had had the chance.
We all tell ourselves we're going to keep it civil for our kids, but our words cannot muffle the anger boiling inside (yes, of course I was in therapy) and they felt it Some of that scorched earth remains barren.
How come you couldn't stay in that house and your ex move out?
Maybe she could have, and chose not to. When my first husband and I separated, I was the one who walked. The house held such unpleasant memories for me, I knew I would never live there again.
Joyce, I really like seeing the essay version of this scene in your memoir. 😌