My ex is getting remarried later this month. When he told me, he mentioned that he asked the pastor of the church we had attended together to perform the ceremony. I stayed at that church after our divorce and now serve on the governing council. I immediately emailed the pastor and told him I would be stepping away from the church and my steward responsibilities until I could better understand my comfort level with this situation.
I spent the next 24 hours stewing about my response. I have never harbored any secret hope that my ex and I could someday reconcile. I always knew that he would remarry long before I would. He has been living with his partner for more than a year, so this news is hardly surprising. My pastor has remained friends with him since our divorce, so I guess I should have seen this coming.
My marriage ended because my ex is gay. As our marriage crumbled, many people told him that leaving was best for both of us—for him because it was honest, and for me because I deserved someone who could love me more fully. Whether or not either of those things are true, the undercurrent I sensed most strongly was that the choice to leave our marriage was good for him. There were very few people around me who offered an unqualified “This is really awful.” I often heard the silent “…but good for him for finally living his truth.”
To be clear, as I look back, I cannot think of anyone who actually said those words to me, or even anything similar. It was all my perception--but perception feels very real, especially in the midst of deep pain. I felt like collateral damage. My ex’s happiness could only be had at great cost, and I was the price.
Hearing that my own pastor had agreed to officiate at my ex’s wedding felt like more wayward shrapnel. Of course I might feel something about my ex getting remarried, but that was mine to get over. I was just a background character in someone else’s more important story. It scraped open a wound I had buried rather than triage.
My pastor invited me to a conversation after receiving my email. He had only been asked to perform the ceremony, but he had not agreed. I felt foolish for reacting prematurely, but that (admittedly awkward) conversation created space for my story. Knowing that the person leading my faith community acknowledged that this wasn’t a zero-sum celebration helped me name a wound that has been festering beneath the surface for a very long time. Naming that wound is another healing step on this journey.
Thank you for sharing this! Your side of the story is so important, and, as you said, undervalued compared to someone finally living their truth. These are complicated realities. People often want to see a divorce through a simplistic narrative that fails to do justice to each unique marriage and each unique partner. Sending you love, respect, and hugs.