I’ve always had a talent for compartmentalizing my feelings, sometimes to my own detriment. However, during my divorce, that skill reached a new level. My ex-husband often lashed out, making threats about taking the children away or ensuring I never received any financial support, despite it being our shared resources. Each time this happened, I felt myself mentally shutting down, like a robot that someone had quietly switched off. My gaze would dull as I focused on my breathing, repeating to myself not to react. I understood that provoking his ego could lead to emotional turmoil, and I never knew what might set him off, so I opted for an almost emotionless demeanor.
Legally, my ex-husband had no basis for his threats, thanks to my attorney’s guidance. I had meticulously documented our accounts and communications, knowing that the laws in our state would protect me and our children. I was aware that if he followed through on his threats, he would ultimately jeopardize his access to our kids. Keeping a record of his manipulative messages was a safeguard I could use if necessary. Staying calm meant denying him any emotional ammunition.
I promised myself never to give him a reason to accuse me of losing my composure and to shield my children from any arguments between us. So, I refrained from yelling or reacting—I simply shut down. His threats were often interspersed with apologies, but I remained silent, biding my time until we could each move on. I arranged separate sleeping quarters in the spare room, waiting for our time apart.
When I had to be around him, I would tone down my personality and completely withdraw whenever he began his threats. During discussions regarding our separation or co-parenting, I adopted a low, calm tone. He would sometimes ask me why I sounded different or what was wrong with me, once even remarking that I sounded like a therapist.
Throughout those interactions, I became a passive observer, as if in a daze, staring blankly and blinking occasionally. If I worried that my silence would escalate his anger, I would respond with bland comments to keep him at bay.
The six months it took to sell our house were tough, and shutting down had unforeseen repercussions. At the time, it felt like a necessary defense mechanism, but in hindsight, I can hardly believe how much I tolerated without reacting. While I appeared composed on the surface, inside, I was grappling with trauma. Once alone, I often shook, cried, and experienced panic attacks. The stress affected my health; I lost weight, struggled to sleep, and even experienced hair loss. To outsiders, I seemed to be managing well, but internally, I was in turmoil.
My primary concern was maintaining stability for my children, but it’s only recently that I’ve realized the toll this prolonged shutdown took on me. I became accustomed to living as a shadow of my former self, only coming alive when it was necessary to be a good mother. I am still in the process of healing and relearning how to engage fully with life.
Since our divorce was finalized two years ago, my ex has tried to extend olive branches, inviting me to “hang out” as if he doesn’t remember the hurtful words he once spewed. Perhaps he believes his anger excuses his past behavior, or maybe my shutdown led him to think his words didn’t impact me.
Forgiveness is not something I can imagine. He maintains a decent relationship with the kids, so I communicate with him only for essential matters. Occasionally, he attempts to provoke me with comments he knows will irritate, and just like that, I revert to my shutdown mode.
I will always strive to be the best mother I can be, but I eagerly await the day when I no longer have to interact with him—or when those interactions become minimal. I want to stop feeling like I have a switch inside me that’s ready to turn off at any moment.
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In summary, my experience during my divorce taught me about the extremes of emotional shutdown as a coping mechanism. While I prioritized my children’s mental health, the impact on my own well-being was profound and lingering. Recovery is a journey, and I am learning to reclaim my emotional presence.
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