Off the Clock with Dr. Emma: The Army Ruined Our Marriage. Why Am I Grieving Our Divorce?

A therapist with deep ties to the military community, Dr. Emma Smith writes a monthly advice column for Military.com to address questions from our readers. This month, she responds to a message from a military spouse who is grieving her divorce. Want Dr. Emma to answer your question next month? Submit it using the form at the end of the article.

Dr. Emma,

My husband and I recently divorced after a separation. It was mutual. We were married for 16 years. We couldn't survive so many deployments and him being gone so much over his career. He never got used to being married … he made decisions on his own and didn't know how to function as a couple/family when he came home.

For me ... it just got more and more comfortable to have him gone and not have to try to integrate him back into our life, when he didn't want to really be part of us anyways. Our kid is just a few years away from graduating high school and seems to be coping well.

The divorce is the best thing for all of us ... so why do I feel so sad about it? I think I have cried more over the divorce than I ever did over any fights or anything when we were married.

Divorced in an Army Town

Dear Divorced in an Army Town,

The name that you’ve chosen is poignant. It gives a nod to both the end of something and the place where that ending is rooted. You mentioned the divorce was the right thing for all parties, and I believe you; I have seen that to be true for couples in my own practice.

Divorce asks us to grieve not only the person we married, but a version of ourselves too – the young woman who walked down the aisle full of belief, the younger you who thought he would come around if she just held steady long enough, the mother who wanted her child to grow up living with both parents. Grief pulls all of these versions of ourselves forward, and that is part of the reason why it can feel so big.

I still occasionally look at one photo from my wedding day, almost 15 years later. Not because of my ex, but because of the version of me that I see in it. I see a 27-year-old version of myself who believed life was a big adventure, was certain she could hold everything together and who carried equal parts fearlessness and naivety. I keep that photo not because I want to return to that life, but because I want to remember that idealistic soul and the part she played in getting me to where I am today.

Read Next: Off the Clock with Dr. Emma: Am I Burned Out from Military Life?

My grief is, in many ways, that life didn’t quite live up to her expectations. And maybe you’re feeling that way too: sadness not just for the marriage that ended, but for the woman you once were and the future she imagined. Grief has a way of sneaking up like that.

And even when the decision is right, grief can still be gut-wrenching. I wonder if your post-divorce sadness feels extra jarring, given the detachment you described as a norm in your relationship. It can leave you wondering:

• Did we make the right decision?
• How can something that felt so limp and numb evoke pain this deep?

Many endings carry grief, even when they are chosen, necessary or undeniably for the best. In the latter case, we refer to it as nostalgia – a painful longing or yearning for something from the past (the suffix “algia” actually means “pain”).

The grief from situations, like divorce, may feel more complicated for several reasons. First, people mostly don’t grieve the marriage they ended. They grieve the loss of the marriage they started – the hopes and dreams that no longer have a chance of coming true. Closing a chapter means closing off the possibility for repair.

And in your case, there’s yet another layer. You mention you’re living in a military town and spent 16 years married to a service member. You weren’t just married to a person; you married into a culture and a way of life.

When we marry a service member, we are brought into the fold of military life, whether we wear the uniform or not. When our marriage ends, so does our belonging to that culture. The loss can be surprisingly sharp. Suddenly, everyday touchpoints vanish: the base gym, the coffee shop where friends met or even the sight of a formation of young soldiers. Divorce in the military isn’t just a goodbye to a person and a relationship; it’s also a goodbye to an entire community and a cultural identity.

So yes, even though you know it was the right thing to do, it hurts. It’s not unlike the bittersweetness that accompanies leaving a duty station. Even if you didn’t like it there, even if you’re sure the next place will be better, there’s still grief in letting go of what is familiar.

You mention crying more over the divorce than the actual fights that led up to it. Just let yourself cry. Sometimes tears show up when it finally feels safe to let yourself feel. Notice what follows those moments. Research shows that emotional tears are good for you because they purge stress hormones from our systems and stimulate the release of other hormones, like oxytocin and endorphins, that help assuage the pain. Crying during periods of grief is often a sign of health, because you’re allowing the emotions to process out of you and for your system to rebalance.

If you’re looking for something more intentional, you can try journaling, talking with friends and loved ones or going to therapy. You can even consider something more ritualistic: a private farewell. Early on in my career, I worked with someone who created her own goodbye ritual. This ritual included going to a meaningful place, reading a letter she’d written and burying a flower in the earth. It helped her honor what had been lost and release the dream of what could have been. Sometimes a symbolic act can help us mark the ending. Divorce is often both liberation and loss.

And then there’s the matter of your son. Divorce doesn’t erase the fact that you and your ex are still parents. Co-parenting after a long marriage can feel especially strange: part distance, part intimacy, part frustration and part collaboration. It may even stir up echoes of the loneliness that lived in your marriage. That’s OK. When it comes to co-parenting, the goal isn’t perfection or friendliness but stability. Your son doesn’t need you and his father to be close; he needs to see that people can grow apart and still respect each other.

You don’t have to rush to feel better or justify your sadness. It’s normal to wish things had gone differently and feel at peace with the decision to end what wasn’t working. Your tears are not evidence of regret. They are proof that you loved, invested and hoped. Letting go of hope is its own kind of heartbreak, even when it’s the right choice.

Off the clock, but always in your corner,

Dr. Emma

The content shared in this column is for informational and educational purposes only. It does not constitute clinical advice or create a therapist-client relationship. If you are in need of mental health support, please reach out to a licensed professional in your area.

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