VERBIER Why it took a self-pitying €50k globe-trotting spending spree to teach me divorce is NOT freedom
I was a mother now, and our children had to come first. And I was happy — a different sort of happy.
Yet, my husband seemed to cling onto our old lifestyle. Despite being four years older than me, he was still as sociable as ever, while I was at home dealing with work pressures and the children.
The arguments were inevitable. Any woman would been jealous and frustrated.
Then, around 2010, his career started to wane as new acts took over and selling records became less profitable because of streaming apps such as Spotify.
I lost interest in managing the record label and found I could make more money buying properties and renting them out on Airbnb.
The cracks between us became a chasm. By December 2017, I had a strong feeling something was not right with our relationship. I buried my worries, and continued to look to the future, buying us a second home in Lisbon.
But there was no escaping the fact our marriage was collapsing.
I tried to make it work, but we were arguing a lot, something which was unpleasant for the children, who were then 16 and 14.
Eventually, I snapped and told him to pack his bags. The date is for ever engrained in my mind: June 21, 2018.
It is a curious feeling, being married for 20 years then suddenly finding yourself single.
I still thought like a married mother-of-two, yet felt this pressure to behave differently. What was the point of unravelling my life if I still behaved as though I was part of a couple?
There is no template for this next, important step when you walk away from a marriage. It is too easy to get it wrong.
And I did. Days later I jetted off, with my teenage daughter, first to Crete, then to Mykonos to meet up with one of my best friends, Libby. Mykonos is a mecca for celebrities and we spent our time at exclusive beach clubs. This trip alone cost me €10,000, but that was far from the end of my splurge.
From Mykonos, the three of us flew straight to Ibiza. And back in London that summer, the Bacchanalia continued.
I had two short relationships with men in their mid-20s.
I kept telling myself I was having fun. That I ‘deserved’ this . . . but deep down, it felt hollow and meaningless. I urged myself to ignore the ‘killjoy’ in my head, but each encounter just reinforced those feelings.
I craved routine, normality, the mundane day-to-day life of a family, but I forced myself to forge ahead, convinced that true happiness was just around the corner.
By September, I was clearly suffering from anxiety and depression caused by the end of my marriage, but my feet would not stop itching.
I returned to Ibiza to relax with a friend, then in October flew to New York for five days, where I stayed in a five-star hotel and flitted around designer stores.
I had so many holidays in this period that I lost count — among them, jetting back and forth to my second home in Lisbon, popping down to Seville in Spain for a few days, as well as flying business class to Winnipeg in Canada for Halloween.
High-end department stores became my second home. Anything that caught my eye was justified as a divorce present. I bought a €1,400 pair of Christian Louboutin boots and blew €1,100 on Agent Provocateur and Myla lingerie.
Yves Saint Laurent sunglasses, Sandro and Maje trousers, Zadig & Voltaire trainers and Stella McCartney handbags were among the goodies in my haul.
This was my time, I told myself — my treat. After all, I’d never spent money on myself like that before. When I was married, the family had always come first. Now, if you added on the €150 a week I was spending on gym membership, the exercise classes and personal trainers, plus the €600 a month invested at the hair salon and getting pedicures and manicures, my outgoings were clearly out of control.
I finally snapped out of it last March when I returned home from Prince Andrew’s favourite winter haunt, the Swiss ski resort Verbier. I couldn’t keep running away from my grief any more. I was sobbing, overweight, riddled with anxiety and around €16,000 in debt.
Finally, I allowed myself to acknowledge that I was missing my husband. I’d been with him for 20 years and, while I didn’t want him back, I missed what we had had together.
I had been catapulted into a new life: I was in my late 40s and I was scared. I didn’t know what was out there for me, or if I would ever meet someone again. It was a terrifying time. . .
LONG overdue, I booked myself in for therapy, and after half a dozen sessions I was finally able to stop crying. Now I feel really happy again and have a new boyfriend whom I’ve been seeing for eight months.
I have come to realise you can get a second chance in life — if you acknowledge your emotions, rather than burying them.
With that in mind, I’m setting up a grieving retreat for those devastated by divorce. There is next to nothing out there for people struggling with divorce.
My retreat —which is also for those grieving after the death of a loved one — offers divorce coaches, life coaches and group meditation to help clear negative thoughts.
Both men and women are welcome, and I certainly don’t see it as being a misery hotel. There will be cheese and wine tasting, lots of fun and laughter, too.
I am hoping people will come away from it with new friends and maybe even a future spouse. I want to help people see that there can be life after a divorce.
Looking back, I realise I would have been better off spending my money on therapy rather than luxury holidays and fancy clothes.
Yes, it was fun in the short term — but it certainly did not heal my wounds. After a relationship ends, there is so much hurt to confront and deal with.
Running away is not the answer.
TO FIND out more about the first Mending Hearts Retreat in October, go to mendinghearts retreat.com