Life lessons: Why I’m glad my marriage failed
Apparently, Elton John was just three days into his honeymoon when he told his new bride it was all over. Author Helly Acton has an even worse confession…
My father’s arm linked mine, the music began to play and guests turned to watch me inch slowly towards my future husband.
Trying to breathe steadily, I hoped no one would notice the vivid red anxiety rash creeping down my arms. Knuckles white, I clasped my bouquet tightly.
The man waiting for me was Ed*, whom I’d met at work in London four years previously when I was 25. We’d travelled the world together and when he proposed in 2011, I said ‘yes’, immediately.
Love, of course, played a part in my reply. But there were other factors, too. All my friends were getting engaged and I feared if I didn’t, I’d be left behind.
Just before his proposal, I found myself doing mental sums about how long it would take me to reach this point with another man if I had the courage to listen to my gut and start again.
But getting married felt like a race I had to run. A ring on my finger would show the world I was worthy.
That said, on our wedding day in London in 2012, I couldn’t stop thinking about the likelihood of our marriage failing. I glanced at my mum. She’d assured me I didn’t have to go through with it.
It didn’t help that Ed had done his classic disappearing act the night before. The same old routine, saying he’d be back at 7pm, turning up at 3am…
I told Mum I didn’t have doubts, but, in truth, I did. So why was I walking towards him? Well, I was hopeful. Ed was funny – making me laugh as easily as he made me cry – and affectionate. I wanted my gut to be wrong and for marriage to weld us together.
But largely, I proceeded because I couldn’t bear the shame. Divorce, I reasoned, would be easier than a lastminute cancellation, and far less humiliating.
Less than six months later, aged just 29, I was to discover whether this was correct. Because in that short space of time my marriage was over.
And while, initially, I was embarrassed – who wouldn’t be? –I’m glad I’ve been through a divorce. My failed starter marriage fixed me.
Going through the turmoil – while undoubtedly agonising – made me less needy.
It cured me of my desire to have everything all mapped out, with a list of targets to
be met by age 30: husband, house, kids…
Most significantly, without my failed starter marriage, I’d never have met my new husband, Chris. It’s only because I ended a bad marriage that I realised what a good one looked like.
After my wedding day with Ed was over, I began acting like a ‘married woman’, cutting my hair into a sensible bob and discussing when we might start a family.
Yet Ed seemed frustrated. One night, he told me I was too boring to go out with his friends – a statement that’s left me with social anxiety to this day. Ed never appreciated how his blade-sharp words chipped away at my confidence.
With the worst possible timing, his parents decided to throw us a wedding celebration party, as many of his relatives hadn’t made it to the ceremony.
Ed wrote a speech and read it to me. ‘It’s good,’ I said, cautiously. ‘But it’s weird that you’ve written a wedding speech that doesn’t mention me’. Ed tore the speech in half and told me he was leaving for a few days. While he did return, a few hours later, it did nothing to ease my sense of instability.
I called my parents and told them my marriage was over. They were relieved, not surprised and arrived the next morning.
Beyond nervous, I waited for
‘If there’s one thing I’ve learned’ ‘We don’t need anyone else. We are enough on our own.’
them before I told Ed. I needed their support. My relief was tempered by panic at being single again aged 29, something Ed didn’t fail to remind me of. I was alone and on the shelf.
But, to my surprise, I loved it. Having spent years putting all my energy into partners (what a waste), I finally focused on myself.
Instead of trying to find The One, I realised I was The One. I could do what I want, eat what I fancied and go wherever I felt like.
One hot summer Sunday, I lay by a swimming pool, with a pile of books. Mobile off, I gloried in my aloneness. I dawdled home, ate Vietnamese food in front of a boxset and felt utterly free.
Of course, there were times I wished for company. When it was too hard for friends with babies to meet up. When it would have been nice to share a meal on a rainy Sunday night. Or when a plate-sized spider appeared and I had to beg a passer-by to remove it. But nothing could tarnish my quiet inner contentment.
Almost four years after my marriage ended, in 2016, I decided to start dating again.
I was 32 when I met my now-husband, Chris, on an online dating site. Chris laughs when he remembers that, within minutes, I’d told him I was divorced. I was worried he might see it as baggage, and I didn’t want to waste time.
But he didn’t. He thought it showed my courage.
Chris is warm, funny, familiar and kind. From the moment we met, he felt like home.
I wished we’d met earlier. But if we had, it might not have worked. I wouldn’t be as strong as I am now.
Last week marked a year since Chris and I married. On that day, I walked down the aisle, aged 35 and rash-free.
In four months, two will become three. Four, if you include our dog, Milo. I’ll be 37 when I have my first child, seven years after I planned to have my last.
And I couldn’t be happier.
I focused on myself... instead of looking for The One, I realised I was The One
The Shelf by Helly Acton is out now in hardback, eBook and audio (read by Normal People actress Daisy Edgar-Jones), published by Zaffre.