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The Seven Stages

The seven stages of grief are widely used to explain the complicated process we go through when we experience any major loss. They are based on the famous theory by psychiatrist Elisabeth Kübler-Ross. Loss can be caused by many different situations: the death of a loved one, the end of a relationship or any big life change. Divorce, especially, represents the death of a marriage and all the hopes and dreams that went into it, and this needs a grieving process for healing.

After the initial shock and disbelief, you will begin a journey that will take you through a series of complex emotions, until finally you will begin the upward turn towards acceptance, hope and even joy. In reality, however, grief is not linear; feelings are messy and difficult, so only use the seven stages as a general guide. Loss is universal, but it is also very personal and everyone’s journey is their own.

STAGE 1

WTF

Yorkshire

‘So what do you think?’

Having finished looking around downstairs, the estate agent pushes open a stripped-pine door and shows me into the master bedroom.

It’s an innocent enough question, but probably not the wisest one to ask a recently divorced woman. One who has made the impulsive decision to leave London and all her friends, resign from the teaching job she’s held for the last ten years and move several hundred miles away to the Yorkshire Dales, where she knows no one.

I think lots of things. Mostly that I’m still in shock. That I can’t believe my marriage is over. That I haven’t slept properly in months. That I’m clearly having a midlife crisis. That yesterday I looked for my keys everywhere and found them in the fridge. That I’ve gained five pounds – oh, who am I kidding? More like fifteen. That I feel lost and bewildered. That I lie awake in the darkness thinking this is all a bad dream. That it’s all my fault.

That I love him.

That I hate him.

That secretly I wish I was the kind of woman who did crazy, angry, revengeful things to her cheating ex with frozen prawns and spray paint, instead of being the kind of woman who ran the iron over his shirts, folded them neatly into bin bags and left them in the garage, for when he came to pick up the rest of his things.

‘It’s very nice,’ I say politely, looking around the dimly lit room, with its old-fashioned flowery wallpaper and faded brown carpet, darker in parts where the furniture used to be.

I think I’ve gone completely bonkers and this is all a terrible mistake.

A strong fusty smell reaches my nostrils and I feel painfully homesick.

Only I no longer have a home to feel sick for. It’s been sold, subject to contract, as part of the divorce. The new owners, a couple with two young children, are due to move in in the New Year. My ex-husband has moved out of our home and in with his new girlfriend. His son, Will, my beloved stepson, who would spend weekends and holidays with us, has finished university and gone travelling. It’s just me and an empty house full of memories.