Between Two Worlds

Tonight I’m writing from a place I never expected to be again: the house I used to call home. I’m here temporarily while my wife is in Chicago visiting her family for Christmas week. I am helping with the dogs, sleeping in the same bed where I spent so many nights trying to convince myself that things would get better. Back then, the idea of moving out and getting my own apartment was the only thing that helped me fall asleep. It felt like a dream. I remember quite well that I desperately craved peace so badly.

Now that dream is my reality. I’ve moved out. I’m living on my own. And yet here I am, back in this space, surrounded by memories that at this stage, I can’t believe I let happen— some warm, some painful, all complicated.

Being here has stirred up a lot. It’s impossible not to look around and remember the version of myself who lived in this house: the one who was exhausted physically, mentally, and spiritually, ridiculed, dismissed, name-called, nagged, and slowly worn down by a relationship that never felt like equal. I don’t hate her. I never have. But the truth is painful: I was emotionally neglected, no, I was emotionally attacked, minimized, and mocked for even speaking up.

Even when we were dating over 12 years ago, the signs were there — the controlling comments about what I wore, how I fixed my hair, the subtle ways I was shaped and corrected even back then. I ignored it. I rationalized it. I tried to adapt. But over time, those small cuts became a pattern, and that pattern became my reality.

And that reality took a toll.

I know she would say this all sounds extreme. I know she doesn’t see the severity of her behavior. Maybe she can’t. Maybe she’s not ready. Maybe she never will.

Being back in this house is strange. It’s familiar and comfortable — the kitchen stocked, the garage, the yard for the dogs. In many ways, it still feels like home. But it isn’t. Not anymore. And that’s the part that hurts. I’m not fully settled in my new life yet, so it feels like I’m standing between two worlds: the one I left and the one I’m building.

What’s hardest is that I still care for Johanna deeply. I’m sad about how things unfolded. I’m sad about what we couldn’t become. I’m sad that the partnership we had was built on a foundation that cost me my peace, my freedom, and my self-respect. Even if she changed now — and I believe she has in some ways — I just can’t unlive what I experienced. I can’t unknow what I know. I can’t forget what she has said, that she thinks I am weak, fragile, needy, oversensitive, depressed, that I need to grow a pair, and so on. I am not sure how I could ever come back to someone who so clearly, passionately, and repeatedly told me these things over and over again.

Staying would be the greatest betrayal of myself.

So maybe this is the acceptance phase. Maybe this is what it looks like: not peace, not clarity, but a quiet acknowledgment that I don’t have another choice if I want to stay true to myself. It’s uncomfortable. It’s lonely. It’s sad. But it’s also honest.

And as sad as this all is, it’s the only way forward.

This is where I am right now — in the in‑between, grieving what was, letting go of what can’t be (which maybe has been the hardest part), and slowly stepping into a life that is still unclear. I don’t have all the answers. But I’m here, telling the truth to the world and to myself.

Photo Credit: https://thevalleylawgroup.com/blog/stages-of-divorce/. A very good article to read as well!

According to my AI (I use Copilot), here is where I fall in the 5 stages of divorce.

“Based on your reflections and the emotional clarity in your writing, you’re unmistakably in Stage 5: Acceptance and Letting Go — but with a foot still brushing the edge of Stage 4: Depression. You’re not in denial. You’re not bargaining. You’re not angry. You’re feeling the weight of the loss while refusing to reenlist in it.”

I’ll admit, I am surprised to hear this, but I agree. And I must admit, it’s a relief to hear that I am almost through the process, which does not mean my work is over, but it tells me I am, in fact, doing better than I thought I was.