"One day in 2017 while on a walk together, my husband asked me for a divorce."
From the outside, Eve Stanway and her husband were the “golden couple”, but in reality they were unable to have difficult conversations without falling into conflict, she says.
When I was at university, I met the man who I thought was the love of my life. It was 1991, and we were both 21. We met in February, and two months later, in April, when we were playing pool, he dropped the chalk, bent down to pick it up and said, “While I’m down here, would you marry me?”
It was impetuous, but at the time I thought it was a whirlwind romance. Of course I said yes, and all our friends and family were delighted, despite the fact we’d only been dating for two months. But life got in the way of us walking down the aisle. Our son was born in 2001, and our daughter in 2007. That same year, after 17 years of being engaged, we finally married.
From the outside, everything looked ideal. We were the family that others often admired. Friends and relatives commented on how warm and welcoming our home felt, and it seemed as though we had created the very stability I had craved as a child. The truth, however, was more complicated.
Our marriage continued for a further 10 years, until one day in 2017 while on a walk together, my husband asked me for a divorce. I remember the moment clearly. It felt as though the floor had vanished beneath my feet. Our daughter was preparing to start secondary school, and our son was facing his GCSEs. My overwhelming thought was, “How could he do this now?”
Our marriage had had its problems, but because of my turbulent background, I had always believed that staying together mattered more than anything else. I had grown up in an unconventional home, sailing around the world before my parents’ marriage ended in an acrimonious and deeply painful divorce when I was just 7 years old.
My early experience of instability, parental conflict and abandonment shaped so much of how I would come to understand relationships, safety and the meaning of home. I believed that holding a family together was the highest calling, and I carried that belief with me for many years.
I had poured myself into creating a nurturing home, but I had not truly paused to ask whether our relationship still felt safe and secure to both of us. The dissonance between what others saw and what was actually happening behind closed doors made the process all the more difficult.
Everyone was shocked when we announced we were separating: we were that “golden couple” who’ve been together longer than everyone else, so nobody could imagine that we had problems. I was very alone and felt very isolated: my friends and family simply couldn’t understand why we weren’t together any more.
But looking back, there were issues in our marriage that we weren’t talking about. We’d argue about run of the mill stuff: the future direction of our life, whether to get a dog, when to have children, and the most common reason for marital strife: money. The whole relationship felt like we were jockeying for position with each other, but we weren’t really talking about the issues, or listening to each other. I hold my hands up to that fully: I didn’t know how to have a conversation without it escalating.
I think having disagreements is normal in a relationship, but not resolving them and shutting each other down makes them into a bigger problem. We went to relationship counselling numerous times, but it didn’t help us to communicate better. In the sessions we’d talk about our pasts as if they were an excuse or reason for our problems. But there was nothing solution-oriented, anything about how to understand each other’s communication styles or how we could structure conversations to avoid falling into conflict.
The truth was, we’d got married to fix our rocky patch: we hoped the commitment might heal the rift between us. It was an amazing party with all of our friends and family, but the problems were right there waiting for us as soon as we got home. People believe that all of a sudden it will be different because you’re legally wed to each other, but the problems themselves don’t go away.
I now realise there’s no way of making the problems go away other than by being really willing to listen to the other person. We were unable to have difficult but important conversations or compromise rather than trying to win the argument.
The years that followed my husband asking for a divorce were some of the most complex and emotionally demanding of my life. For a while we continued living together, trying to work out how to break the news to the children. Eventually he moved into a flat nearby and would return twice a week to be with the children in our home. On those days, I would make myself absent.
When mediation failed, we found ourselves representing ourselves through the family courts. We continued right through to the final hearing, where a judge made the ultimate decision about how our marriage would legally end. It was a painful and humbling experience.
It was during that process that I discovered my calling. I realised that I was not alone in finding the emotional terrain of separation more challenging than the legal aspects. The real heart of divorce is not found in paperwork, but in the conversations we avoid, the truths we struggle to say aloud, and the compassion we learn to extend to ourselves and others.
I had to examine the stories I had told myself. That I had been wronged. That he had been unkind. That I was blameless. Slowly, I began to see the fuller picture. I saw where I had contributed to our breakdown. I saw how I had tried to keep the illusion intact. I recognised the fear I had of seeing myself clearly.
My experience led me to realise that I had avoided difficult conversations throughout our relationship. It inspired me to train as a break-up and divorce coach to help other people navigate this difficult time of life. I realised that children do not need us to pretend everything is perfect. They need us to be steady, truthful and present. They need us to guide them through change with love and clarity.
When I look back on those years, and at the strong, kind young people my children have become, I no longer see my divorce as a failure. I see it as a turning point. I see it as the beginning of a new kind of courage. I admire the bravery my husband showed that day when he told me the truth. He was not happy. He wanted to leave. At the time, I could not hear him. It took seven years for his words to settle and find their place in me. Now I recognise their truth. I am grateful to him for speaking them, and I realise he was right.
When I used to try to speak to friends about the problems in my relationship, they’d respond with platitudes like: “Oh, but he loves you,” rather than asking how I was feeling. In society, we’re taught to applaud people who have been married for a long time. Remember that a long relationship is not always a good relationship. Society often celebrates longevity over quality. Just because a relationship has lasted a long time does not mean it has been healthy or fulfilling. Sometimes, it has lasted because problems were avoided, not solved. Try to tune out the noise of other people telling you that everything is fine and trust your gut.
A separation is an emotional earthquake for everyone involved. Allow yourself to feel the grief cycle, which is anger, denial, bargaining, depression, and acceptance. The grief process is a very big part of divorce and break-up. There’s a loss of the future that you thought you were going to have together, a loss of the past that you’ve had together because all of a sudden, it looks like it wasn’t any good, a loss of your partner’s family. It’s normal and healthy to grieve what you’ve lost in the process. Whether you’re the one initiating the separation or the one who is being left, there is loss, grief, and uncertainty. Being open about this and getting good emotional support, especially in the early stages, can stop those feelings turning into conflict.
Avoid framing the other person as the problem. Instead, talk about the challenges as shared issues that both partners are responsible for addressing. If someone refuses to engage in problem-solving, it remains their responsibility. You can name this clearly without blame. Try not to blame, shame or seek a villain: empathy will help to de-escalate the situation.
You don’t have to agree with the other person, but if you can really listen to what they are saying, it can take the heat out of the conflict. Active listening is one of the most effective de-escalation tools available. Remember that there are few relationships where one party is faultless: like a driving safety course, where people think everyone else is the dangerous driver and they are the only safe driver in the room. This is rarely the case.
Before any changes are made that might impact children’s lives, such as moving house or changing schools, discuss the financial and living arrangements calmly and constructively. Doing this early can help create a smoother path for all involved. Work out your arrangements before you break the news to your kids. A clear plan will help them feel calmer. Remember that children are navigating their own world, with friendships, school and exams, so the more consistency you can offer during family transitions, the more secure they will feel. Speak to them openly, age-appropriately, and with care for their emotional experience.
Lawyers are there to give (expensive!) legal advice, not to give life advice. The legal process leads to an escalation of conflict. Lawyers cannot help you process the emotions of your divorce: that’s what a coach is for. Good coaching helps regulate emotional overwhelm, supports ethical and clear communication, and helps you act with integrity, clarity and compassion, even when things feel chaotic. Speak to someone who understands separation and divorce well. Get clear on what really matters to you. Grief can cloud your judgment. Objects, homes and habits carry emotional weight. You do not have to let go of everything, but clarity helps you choose what to hold on to.
- As told to Deborah Cicurel
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