Get divorced popped into my head immediately.
It was horrible and wonderful, and horrible, and scary, and horrible and stressful, and horrible and humbling.
Horrible things were said and done. Accusations flew. I tried to float up into grace and class, but confess I spent nights in a bathroom on the other side of the house, bawling, away from my kids so that they did not hear me. AND spent a week in a psychiatric hospital for “situational depression”.
“You never really know who someone is until you break up.” <— man do I get that in a major way! Divorce isn’t like any other type of breakup and mine entailed 15 years of marriage and 20 years of knowing each other. We are tied forever by two (amazing) kids. This means the “break up” is never done, as in “I never have to see you or talk to you again.” There will be grownup kid major holidays (do we both go?) and birthdays, and trips and perhaps, grandchildren. Negotiating and navigating new territory as I age, he ages and the kids grow up will always be a challenge, and I cannot run from it.