Divorce Identity and Loneliness

Almost six months ago, I basically upended my entire social structure when my husband and I decided to separate. Then, four months after that, it completely changed again when I resigned from a company I helped build and loved. I guess, “Go big or go home.”

First, I moved out of the home I shared with my husband and our two children and into a rental house. Ouch. That was tough. Like the most excruciating emotional pain you can imagine, knowing you’re feeling it because of your own actions. And inactions.

The heartbreak of moving out of a family home is something I wish for no one. We had been married over 15 years. Fifteen years of waking up together. Going to bed together. The constant of the kids’ voices and footsteps and movement. Day in, day out. Then…the sudden aloneness…the quietness…the stillness. The yearning for a squeeze from your kids before they go to bed. Being desperate to connect only to be let down by the mostly futile, quick, surface-level FaceTime chats.

I knew things would change socially too. We had built a life together. In our neighborhood, our community, with friends, and our children’s friends' families, we were always a couple, getting asked to do couple things. My ex is extremely extroverted and always up for a good time – the really funny and social kind of guy. I’m much more quiet, bordering on shy, and really only break out of my shell with the right combination of energy, people, and sleep.

So I wasn’t surprised when, pretty soon after we split, he got invited on a family trip to Florida with a few of our friends…and I didn’t. My feelings weren’t hurt. But I was sad. Sad because the reality was that I had spent the previous eight years building a business instead of true friendships. So when the time came for a multi-family beach trip, my phone didn’t ring.

I get it. I know my choices to prioritize my career often forced me to say “no” to social activities and not be as present in our friend group. That probably made me the overworked and overstressed wife who could be fun. Who used to be fun; but that side rarely showed up anymore.

As I began to prioritize the business, I slowly lost pieces of me. Some bad, some good. I lost the piece of me that was able to make time for friends and social activities. The piece that could imbibe and hang out late, only to get up the next day to do it all over again. I used to laugh. A lot. I used to have fun and could be silly with my kids. We would run around the kitchen island and dance and sing. Somewhere along the way…that all stopped.

As the stakes got higher with the business, so did my uptightness. I started drinking less (not a bad a thing), going to bed earlier (not a bad thing), waking up too early (became a bad thing), and filling voids from my marriage with work (definitely a bad thing). 60 to 80-hour work weeks became the norm, and I wore it like a badge. As a result, I lost my silly; I lost my lightheartedness.

Before kids, when it was just us, there was room for real, adult fun. We loved hard, laughed a lot, and partied with friends. But after kids, well, things changed. Crying, hungry babies came first, and slowly a crack in our relationship formed. After several years of not really addressing it, the fissure became the Grand Canyon.

We tried therapy…for a few sessions. I was over it after the therapist said that my biggest issues in the marriage were not my problem and something that only Josh could decide to address. I saw this as giving permission to my husband to continue behavior that deeply hurt me. We never found another therapist, and after that, I grieved the loss of our marriage during our marriage. So when we finally did split, it wasn’t the loss of my husband’s companionship that consumed me, but the loss of being with my children 100% of my days.

That killed me. The guilt is like none other. How badly did I screw them up? As two middle-schoolers, would they recover? Or crash during those rocky, early-teen years that are wrought with more complex emotions than their still-developing brains could process?

I remember texting a girlfriend one night, “Why did I choose to be away from my babies?!” (with sobbing emojis I’m sure). And her response was truly beautiful, “Aww Christine, you aren’t choosing not to see your children. You need to frame the choice differently: you are choosing happiness and freedom from a marriage that didn’t serve you and teaching your children that it's okay to walk away from a bad relationship.”

So as the weeks went by, slowly, and very painfully at first, I rode the ebbs and flows. Some more intense than others. But, they began to steady out, and we all just kind of fell into a rhythm. Fortunately, my ex and I get along really well and are very supportive of each other. We even went on spring break together in March.

But four months after separating, just as I was starting to get my footing in this “new normal,” I decided to resign from my business. After eight incredible years building what I affectionately referred to as my third baby, the company no longer needed co-CEO’s and, after much deliberation, I decided it was time for me to step into my second overture.

At first, I was on cloud nine. I was thrilled to have downtime – to wake up in the morning and slowly drink my coffee. Leisurely make the kids’ lunches and drop them off at school. All without showering and getting myself ready for the office. I even walked my dogs during the day! I was finally getting the much-needed downtime I had been craving for years.

And then…reality kicked in. Holy shit. The company had been my life. The people had been my community.  And now there was this massive, gaping void. Within a matter of four months, my entire life construct had vaporized. Where I once knew stability, where I once structured my weeks on kids’ schedules, countless meetings, hours reviewing financials, hiring plans, marketing…I now drift, a bit tetherless.

I find myself at this juncture. I’m not a wife. I’m not a co-CEO. I don’t get invited to vacations. And I don’t get invited to work meetings. I know this is one of those moments I’ll look back on and think, “Damn, the pain was worth it.” But the pain is real. I’m sad. I cried tonight. I went downstairs and clung to my 12-year-old daughter for comfort, who indulged me for a minute, and then returned to whatever it was she was doing.

If I were to rank 2023 so far, I’d give it a 10 on the 0-10 pain scale. But also, a 10 on the growth scale. And on the happy, let’s-do-this-again scale? A solid zero.

Retrospection Post Resignation

I had a call with a business mentor today to discuss my resignation from my former company. I’m so unclear about what to do next. It’s only been a couple weeks, but I feel panicked and out of sorts. I’m so used to go, go, going and I feel…unsettled…about not knowing what my next career move will be. 

My mentor challenged me to sit down, contemplate a couple questions, and write. Everyone has been telling me that I need to write lately, and maybe it’s time I heed the advice. He suggested I spend time thinking about what I care most about. 

I care about a lot of things. 

What I care most about are my kids. First and foremost. Raising good humans and well-adjusted adults has always been my priority and is especially so in this next chapter of our lives. I love them so very much, and I have always tried to do my best. But, until recently, my best didn’t always include being a present mom – both physically and mentally. So whatever happens over these next six years (that’s how much longer they will be in the house with me), I will be unapologetically present. Ideally, I will work during school hours on the weeks I have them, and then work longer hours when they are with Josh. 

Priority #1 and the thing I care most about: kids. Unfortunately, being a great mom doesn’t pay the bills.

My mentor also suggested I focus on answering these specific questions: 

1. What matters to me?

2. What do I like doing?

3. Where do I want to go?

What matters to me? 

Well, I’ve always cared passionately about socioeconomically disadvantaged children. And I have a business idea that I would like to build to close that gap and create equal opportunities for ALL children. It involves a platform that incentivizes parents to create new ways of accountability for their kids through academics, sports, educational endeavors, etc. I love the idea, but my gut tells me it’s more of a philanthropic endeavor meant for me to build in my 50’s.

I also care deeply about my spirituality. I care about having the time to access meditation and introspection, and contemplating the deeper meaning of my life and my purpose in humanity. I cherish any opportunity I get to open my heart’s desires, trust my soul purpose, and activate on it. 

What do I like doing?

I like building teams. I like leading. I like working. I like thinking and writing. I like being a thought leader. I like problem solving and creating solutions to help teams/businesses/products grow. I like facilitating connections. I like connecting dots. I like uniting groups/teams. I like money. I like growing money. I like forecasting and working backwards. I like strategy – building, creating, implementing. I like making hard decisions and critical thinking. I like building culture and collaborative teams. I like putting the pieces of puzzles together.

I like mentoring people, men and women, and helping them reach their full potential. As women, we often don’t trust ourselves. We submit to the louder voice, both externally and internally. We are often overlooked because we are too scared to say what’s really on our minds. In school, we don’t raise our hands. When entering the workforce, we worry we aren’t “right” or fully skilled for a job, so we don’t throw our hat in the ring. 

You know what I say? F*** that. 

I could create a social impact org for mentoring. I could create something positive, gracious, and loving. Women deserve support, solutions, and the space to figure it all out. And every person deserves the opportunity to fulfill their highest divine purpose/destiny. Every person deserves to find and engage in that purpose and to love their decisions. 

Random, but I also like building houses. I really enjoy the project process. I like that there is a beginning, a middle and an end. I like the design and creativity of it. I like collaborating with the different trades and teams. I like knowing how to capitalize on real estate. And I like that real estate values almost always appreciate.

I *think* my path will be something that combines spiritual healing, women, mentoring, and careers…like executive coach on steroids meets technology meets badass.  

How about just a powerful woman who owns who she is, and is unapologetic about the moves she makes, unapologetic about standing up for what is right and fair, and unapologetic about the way she dresses, speaks, acts, communicates, etc.?

Where do I want to go?

I don’t know why but I’ve always had this pull or tug that I’m supposed to do something more. Something bigger. Like when I asked my boyfriend in my early 20’s, “Do you ever feel like you were meant to do something bigger?” To which he responded to me…nothing. Just a blank look…like I was crazy.

I want to be a change-maker and change lives. Maybe the world. I’m supposed to do something bigger. For the first time in my life, I feel like I am not in the shadow of anyone. I can propel myself. I’m going to use my inherent talents and network to build something new. Something big. Something that will one day put me on the cover of Forbes and Fortune magazines.

I want to lead a team, build something of value, grow a business, inspire and empower others. I want to speak, authentically, about my experiences, about growing a business, being a woman, the articles and subjects that I write about. 

I want to allow my spirit and inner guide to soar. It’s time for that. 

**A note from Christine: While I originally wrote this as a creative exercise to narrow my focus after I resigned as co-CEO from the company I helped build, I had zero intentions to share it publicly. In review of all of the writing I did in 2023 to prepare for the Unwinding Perfect blog, I thought this particular piece provided a unique lens into my thought processes one month after resigning. Because of that, I decided to incorporate it into the website and blog. It was interesting for me to look back on this and see how organically Unwinding Perfect evolved - having no clue at that time that a book would soon be written. In review of this piece, I also considered removing much of the brazen dreams that I state at the end. That was, until I handed it over to my editor and she provided the below note. Her constant encouragement and positive reinforcement through the writing process is the ONLY reason the Unwinding Perfect blog is being published She helped convince me that the stories I am telling are meaningful enough to share and could potentially bring value to someone, somewhere. THANK YOU Lauren!

***From Lauren, as written as a comment after editing this blog: “I debated adding something near the end that acknowledged how scary it is to put these big dreams out there, to say out loud what you believe you deserve. But... then I thought, "I only want to put that in because she is a woman, and, as a woman, it's not a celebrated thing to say you deserve XYZ. If this were a man writing, I wouldn't think twice about it." How fucked up is that? (Sorry for the language! But... it truly is fucked up that my mind goes there.) Anyway, I left it out. Because you, and I, and any human, regardless of gender, should be able to boldly declare their worth, their dreams, their power. Great job :)”

Labels Shaped My Identity

The beginning of something new. It’s exciting, and also scary and anxiety-inducing. New means changing. Shifting. Growing. New means stepping outside one’s comfort zone and doing something you’ve never done before. It makes you feel vulnerable, perhaps inadequate, and definitely a smidge fearful.

I recently chose to do something new. I chose to walk away from a company that I helped build from the ground up. And I’m scared shitless. Through this transition, I’m realizing I have created an entire persona and identity around one thing: my job title. In my case, it’s co-CEO. The “co-CEO” title has been one of the best labels and identities I have ever had the privilege of carrying. 

Not surprisingly, elite job titles can be both positive and negative. Positive because they can reflect certain characteristics or abilities, certain levels of comprehension. But they can also become negative when one wraps their  entire identity and value around them. If I was no longer a co-CEO, then what was I? Who was I? Where would my value and worth come from?

A couple years ago, Davie Blu, a friend and spiritual mentor, asked me to make a list of all of the “labels” I have either given myself, or have been given by others throughout my life. The exercise had two parts: first, list all of your labels; second, analyze and begin to deconstruct them. I had to look at each label and ask myself, “Says who?"  Who said this to me? And, did they actually say it? Or did they make me feel it? What is my first memory of having this label? Have these labels become part of my identity? 

It’s a great exercise for anyone because you can begin to unpack all of the labels that have helped shape your identity, both good and bad. After doing the exercise, I was shocked to see that I had come up with 39 different labels (I listed them below). Thirty-nine labels that have, for better or worse, helped create my identity and who I am today.

Insecurities can emerge when labels are misplaced, misused, and inaccurately identified with. When a teacher tells someone that math isn’t their strong suit, they may never pursue their dream of architecture for fear they might not be able to pass the math classes. 

In an example from my list, I had labeled myself as a poor public speaker. Because I believed this, it manifested into a self-fulfilling prophecy. I can’t tell you how many times early in my career as co-CEO that I prepped, practiced, got up to speak, and then completely froze. Like couldn’t-even-get-a-word-out frozen. Which, of course, reinforced in my head that I’m a bad public speaker. How differently would those experiences have been if I had labeled myself a good public speaker? 

Conversely, confidence can grow when labels are attributed with love and good intentions, but even that is not always healthy. The working mom who is everything to everyone, and is told she is a great mom, will continue to overextend herself to the point of fatigue and illness to keep the title of a great mom. The first label I wrote down in the list below – “driven” – is what drove me to be successful in each phase of my life. I was so “driven” that I was willing to sacrifice my own needs and desires to prove I was deserving of the success I was achieving.

Whether the labels and titles you associate with yourself are positive or negative, real or perceived, they shape your identity and how you show up in the world. For five years I had the title co-CEO. And like any CEO title, there was prestige and power that came with it. 

I LOVED being co-CEO, but not because of the aforementioned benefits. I loved it because I loved our team. I loved finding solutions for our growing pains with new talent – like completing a puzzle – each piece coming together for the greater whole. I loved creating well-paying jobs and paying taxes back into the communities we represented and that I grew up in. I loved leading, inspiring, and empowering our team. So when my same friend Davie Blu asked me in August of 2022, “Who are you without what you have created?” I was a little rocked. It was almost as if she knew what was coming and was helping me prepare for it. Over the course of the next few months, I took time to understand who was behind those labels and everything I had created externally.

Who was I? Like, really. At my core, and without the identity of co-CEO, who am I?

I started working with a therapist who taught me about vulnerability, and I started understanding what mattered to me. And none of it was reliant on the labels I had self-attributed or that had been given to me. 

When I started to really understand what mattered to me, the labels and the identity mattered much less. That doesn’t mean I stopped caring all of a sudden. But I didn’t let old habits and comforts define me. This, in the end, was what enabled me to make some really hard decisions, like separating from my husband of sixteen years and leaving the business I loved. Decisions that hurt a lot, but ultimately were the best possible decisions I could have made to allow me to discover who I am and what I want for this next chapter of my life.

The labels I wrote down in March of 2020 when doing an exercise about the words that had defined me for most of my life.

1. Driven

2. Smart

3. Kind

4. Mom

5. Wife

6. Partner

7. Sad

8. Empty

9. Wants more

10. Perfect

11. Lucky

12. Loving

13. Ride- or- die

14. Strong

15. Spiritual

16. Hard-working

17. Compassionate

18. Athletic

19. Confident

20. Bad speech giver

21. Second guesser

22. Intuitive

23. Intimidated

24. Giving/generous

25. Defensive

26. Walled/protected

27. co-CEO

28. Wants to be respected

29. Introverted

30. Awkward

31. Social

32. Friend

33. Yearns

34. Healthy

35. Pragmatic

36. Busy

37. Popular

38. Successful

39. Daughter