The unspoken heartache of divorce
It’s the painful rite of passage no one warns you about: the achingly empty house when your ex first takes the children on holiday
JOLTING awake at 3am, I sat bolt upright in bed, heart pounding. My first thought was how much I missed the tangle of hot little limbs usually wrapped around me. Although then seven and five, my daughters, Vie and Kei, were still in the habit of creeping into my room of a night.
Squinting at my phone’s lit-up screen in the darkness, I felt a pang of distress that there was no message. Were they having trouble sleeping like me? Did they miss their mummy?
When you’re recently divorced, the agony of your children’s first holiday without you is overwhelming. This might sound over-the-top, but it really is like losing a limb. Or two in my case.
My ex-husband and I had agreed via lawyers that he would take them on holiday twice a year: one week at New Year and two weeks in summer. So that June, he had whisked them off to Antigua for a whole fortnight.
Letting them go to their father’s every other weekend had been hard enough — not made any easier by their often-tearful reluctance — but I’d never spent an extended period of time away from my children. Why would I?
Both Vie and Kei are mummy’s girls. If Kei struggled to sleep, she’d ask for my special noodle and carrot soup. And Vie was dependent on my made-up bedtime stories to help her drift off.
There’s no doubting their father, a successful businessman who’d always kept long hours and often travelled for work, spent more concentrated time with them post-divorce than ever before. But I worried he wouldn’t know how to nurture them as I did. And I was particularly paranoid about them being around a swimming pool. The anguish of divorce is well documented: parents are also relatively open about the difficulties of ferrying children between houses. But what of their first holiday without you? It seems we’re just expected to button our lips on that score.
These days one in three children in the UK will see their parents separate by the time they turn 16, so my predicament is hardly rare. Far from being a time when happy memories are made, school holidays are often fraught with acrimony and worry for divorced parents.
Yes, when they’re away with their father, you know your children are with someone they love. You also know they’ll likely enjoy each other’s company. But there are so many feelings at play — jealousy being one. Not only do you miss them terribly, but you ache for all the new experiences you’re missing out on.
As both my ex and I worked full-time, holidays were always a very important part of family life: I never imagined having to take them away on my own. It’s not quite the same.
I have many divorced friends who’ve admitted to competing with their ex when it comes to holidays; trying to wow the children with ever more expensive destinations and activities in order to become the favourite parent.
I was determined not to slip into that trap, but it’s human instinct to try to win favour with your children when loyalties are divided. You have to make a conscious decision not to follow suit.
Of course, when John and I had met while both working in America back in 2006, we could never have imagined how things would turn out. Madly in love, we married after a year-and-ahalf and within two years had two beautiful daughters.
BUTaround the time Kei was born, things started to go wrong. We were two successful people who both worked full-time to afford our costly lifestyle. Deep down I castigated myself for not being around more for my girls: having to express milk during business trips abroad was a real low point.
Meanwhile, John travelled a lot, too and, I became paranoid about him flirting with other women. He always reassured me, but it lead to many arguments. Then there was the fact I always wanted to spend the one or two hours when I got home from work with the girls. John and I grew further and further apart. We tried marriage counselling for a couple of years, but it was hopeless.
From the outside, we seemed like the ‘perfect couple’ with great careers, a beautiful home and two gorgeous girls. We did a good impression of being happily married.
But shortly after John’s 50th birthday party in February 2016, we had a huge row and he left. Devastated, I remember making up a bed in front of the fire. I gathered up my girls and our giant German shepherd, Mickey, and we all curled up together. As the three of them drifted off, I gazed at the flickering flames, wondering what on earth would happen to us all.
Divorce proceedings started pretty quickly. I explained the situation to the girls: while Vie became very anxious, Kei was too young to take it in. I overheard her telling a friend quite nonchalantly: ‘I used to have a daddy who slept in there, but he doesn’t any more.’
I had a few friends in similar situations and whenever I asked how they were, they’d say: ‘I’m fine. We are going through an amicable divorce.’
But I wasn’t afraid to admit I was crying- on-the-floor miserable and I didn’t quite comprehend how the words ‘amicable’ and ‘divorce’ could be used in the same sentence.
John had set up home with a girl from work. She was more then 20 years his junior and their moving in together didn’t help our already hostile divorce.
HISnew home was three hours away and, being so young, our girls found it extremely difficult driving in a car such a distance every other weekend. There’d be tears as we waited in the living room for him to collect them.
I bought a mobile phone for Vie to ring me when she felt like it. But that didn’t go down well with my ex, who felt that brought my presence into their time together. I could understand that, but I was desperate for a link when we were apart.
When it came to their first holiday with their dad — those two weeks in Antigua — I dreaded the day of their departure. I had repeated nightmares about the girls drowning in the holiday pool. I was worried sick, but there was nothing I could do to stop it from happening. I tried to get my little ones excited about going away to make it easier on them and myself, but I had limited success. Two weeks away from me seemed like an endless time to be apart. Immediately after the girls left, I ran to my best friend’s home, searching for a shoulder to cry on. I couldn’t sleep a wink that first night. In fact, having to sleep alone was one of the hardest parts: the girls always found their way into my bed of a night. I loved having them with me.
And that first morning without them, I felt truly desperate. I certainly wasn’t fit for work as a senior banker in the City. I sent an email to my boss in the early hours asking for time off. Giving absolutely no notice was hardly common practice in my line of work.
But for my job you need to be on the ball and all I wanted to do was crawl into bed and weep.
With all those empty hours stretching out in front of me, I decided to take myself off camping. I’ve always found long walks therapeutic, so I packed up my BMW cabriolet and my faithful dog Mickey jumped on to the back seat with such enthusiasm I had to smile for the first time. I don’t know what I’d have done without him during the divorce: sensing my upset, he’d become very protective and cuddly.
Together we drove five hours from our home in Billericay, Essex to Low Wray campsite on Windermere in the Lake District. I pitched my tiny tent right at the water’s edge.
I had to walk for several hours to calm myself down enough to go to the pub for supper. Later, in my tent, I noticed a message from Vie: ‘Can’t sleep, can you tell me a story?’
I always made up little stories for my daughters at bedtime — something my own father had always done for me. I was so happy to hear from my little angel that I immediately started texting away in the dark.
I didn’t receive a response that night
— there was a four-hour time difference. I squished my giant dog into the tent with me, hugged him and cried myself to sleep.
The next morning, I awoke at 3am again. I put my boots on and started hiking with my dog with only a torch to light the way. It sounds mad, I know, but I was so worried about my girls that I didn’t know how to get myself to sleep longer. I had nothing else to do, so I marched on as if I were trying to escape from my troubles.
At 8.30am the little camping shop opened and, starving, I gulped down a bacon baguette. That’s when I noticed another message from my daughter. Decorated with many emojis, it said: ‘Tell me more . . .’ I was over the moon to hear from her and spent the rest of the day brainstorming on a story line as I hiked. Every now and then I stopped to write another paragraph.
I found the process really calmed me down, giving me something else to focus on. I kept up the story-telling g for the entire two weeks: my daughters seemed to get comfort from it, too.
After a week camping, I was forced to return home, as I had no more annual leave. It was a struggle to keep up appearances, particularly as the girls found the second week harder than the first first. Vie phoned me in tears saying she wanted to come home.
They were due back on the Sunday and I spend the entire day cooking a roast dinner for them. I had enough food to feed two families. And when they bundled in through the door, I hugged them tightly as if there was no tomorrow.
I was so relieved that I didn’t have to let go of them for another holiday until the New Year. Their second holiday without me was not as terrible as the first. My ex took them skiing and they were really excited about the snow.
What was hard was not being able to match John’s holidays when it came to my breaks with the girls. He always takes them to fancy places like Vietnam or Switzerland, always staying in five-star hotels. Meanwhile, I have a timeshare so we always go to the same place.
What I also wasn’t prepared for was the loneliness I felt when it was my turn to take them away.
Once they were in bed, with no adult company to share my evening, I was alone with my thoughts, unable to do the things you normally enjoy on holiday . . . going for meals, enjoying wine.
After chatting with two of my closest divorced friends — a mum and a dad — we decided to team up. Over the past three years we have taken our five children away together twice a year. Not only do our children love playing together, once they’re all in bed the adults get to relax, drink, have a laugh. It’s win-win.
Together we make three adults and five children (an only child who’s the same age as Kei and twins who are Vie’s age) and we call our breaks ‘family holidays’. The children refer to each other as cousins and my friends as an uncle and aunt. It means there is no comparison with the holidays they go on with their dad: to be honest, they can’t imagine anything better than splashing about in a pool with their ‘cousins’.
Last Christmas, we even did something very special and instead of going to my timeshare, we booked an Airbnb in Florida. Because we had grouped together with our friends, we could split the cost of trips out and the girls still reminisce about their visit to Discovery Cove and a water park.
THrEEyears since my divorce, I now feel entirely calm when the girls go on holiday with their daddy. I know I have nothing to fear and they always have a nice time. In fact, I must admit that though I still miss my daughters, I quite enjoy the time to myself and tend to hole myself up somewhere to write a children’s story.
Because something positive came out of those agonising times — the little story I texted my daughter became the first draft of my children’s book series.
I’ll never forget that first enforced separation, but it started something that I hope my girls will one day be proud of. They are my inspiration.
The children’s book series Witchy Travel Tales by Sibel Beadle is available on Amazon. co.uk and Waterstones.com