I thought leaving my marriage was hard. Then my next relationship failed too
By Nicole Madigan
There’s a particular kind of pain that comes before the devastation of a relationship ending, but after the betrayal that blows it up. It can unravel you in ways you never expected, as I discovered in my early 30s, after almost 20 years with my childhood sweetheart.
For years, I had silently questioned whether this man – the father of my children, my partner in life – was still the right person to walk alongside me. If the version of us I clung to was real, or just memory. Years of hoping, shrinking and twisting myself into someone smaller, more palatable, more patient, desperate to keep things together.
I loved him, or at least I thought I did. But I didn’t love who I was inside that marriage any more.
The decision to leave a relationship - or stay - can be as traumatic as the break-up itself.Credit: Getty Images
For a long time, I stayed. Not because it was easier, but because leaving felt implausible. I couldn’t fathom breaking apart the only life our children had known. I didn’t know who I was without him. I didn’t want to be divorced. And so, I did what so many women do: I clung to the good days. I set mental deadlines.
By the time I finally left, the grief had already done its work. The marriage didn’t break me, the indecision did. But it rebuilt me, too.
Years later, when I thought I’d found my true person, I experienced that feeling again. Only this time, it felt even more fraught because I’d imagined that this was my fairytale ending. Only, it turned out, it wasn’t.
I wanted to know if I was truly as alone as I felt, so I reached out to my community. As I began to speak with other women, it became clear just how many of us had lived some version of that same internal tug-of-war.
My book, Torn, tells the true stories of four women who fought for relationships fractured by betrayal, addiction and dishonesty. Their experiences are real; they are also common.
The slow burn
According to the Holmes-Rahe Life Stress Inventory, a tool used to measure psychological stress, divorce ranks second only to the death of a spouse. Perhaps that’s why so many of us hesitate for so long. We’re not just ending a relationship, we’re grieving our past, our present, and our imagined future.
But what the scale, developed by psychiatrists Thomas Holmes and Richard Rahe in the 1960s, doesn’t capture is the slow, aching lead-up. It doesn’t measure the sleepless nights spent rehearsing conversations you may never have, or the quiet grief of sitting next to someone you once loved and wondering where they went.
Marriage can represent connection, belonging, family and stability. Walking away from that can feel like stepping into thin air.
Often, the real heartbreak begins long before the moment of separation and can be worse than the leaving itself. According to clinical psychologist Phoebe Rogers, this emotional limbo is common among women, who may experience “profound grief, disappointment, shame and guilt”.
“That’s what can arise when someone is considering leaving a marriage,” she says. “It’s not just the loss of a relationship – it’s the loss of an identity, a future, a sense of safety.”
Marriage can represent connection, belonging, family and stability. Walking away from that can feel like stepping into thin air. And if there are children involved, the guilt deepens. “So many women stay longer than they should because they believe keeping the family together is what’s best,” Rogers says. “But they often do so at the cost of their own mental health.”
Interestingly, Rogers notes that in heterosexual relationships, women tend to fight for their marriages during the relationship, long before any formal separation. They raise the issues, they suggest therapy, and, often, they carry the emotional load.
“By the time a woman actually walks away, she’s often already gone,” Rogers says. “And the man is blindsided. But she’s been fighting for years.”
Blindsided by betrayal
“They always say the wife must have known,” Anna* says. “How would I have known?”
She’s heard that question more times than she can count. It still makes her bristle. Because she didn’t know. Not because she wasn’t paying attention, but because she trusted her husband.
Nathan* had been her first love. They’d made a pact as teenagers to find each other again when life pulled them apart, and they kept that promise. They married at 19, saved every cent, and built a life together from the ground up.
“You don’t go into marriage expecting someone to have an affair,” Anna says. Even now, all these years later, her voice carries the sharp edges formed by deep betrayal. “You might see the signs when you cast your mind back,” she concedes, “when you swap the rose-coloured glasses for darkened ones.”
What hurt Anna wasn’t just the infidelity, it was the lies. “Especially when those lies are being told to you by a man you’ve literally grown up with,” she says. But the prospect of leaving wasn’t as simple as it sounded. There were two children, a long marriage, a shared history.
Deep down, Anna knew she’d never trust Nathan again. But like many women in similar situations, she wanted to do the “right” thing. She wanted to make a decision that left no doubts in her mind, a decision that left her in peace.
So, she and her husband went to marriage counselling conducted by a priest, who also encouraged Anna to try harder. She endured a planned three-month international holiday that almost destroyed her. She persevered, even as her mental health plummeted.
Ultimately, though, she ended the marriage: “I didn’t want to live the rest of my life pretending everything was OK.”
Anna left behind not just a husband but the life she’d planned for since she was 12 years old. She left an extended family, mutual friendships, financial security and a future she could count on.
Although the years that followed were difficult, they were also clarifying. Anna eventually remarried. Her second marriage, which has already surpassed 40 years, gave her the kind of emotional stability she had long been missing.
Still, the echoes of that first betrayal remain. The pain of losing the life she built. The humiliation. The disbelief. And the strength it took to finally say “enough”.
The truth about leaving – and staying
There’s a cultural script around break-ups that says once you know, you go. But in reality, most of us don’t leave the second something breaks. We stay. We hope. We bargain. And more often than not, we lose ourselves in the process.
We ask questions about leaving that no one else can answer. What if I regret it? What if I ruin my kids? Would things have changed if I’d just held on a little longer?
We ask questions about staying, too. What if I lose myself completely? What if this sadness never lifts? What if I’m modelling something to my children that I never wanted for them?
Rogers says the right decision isn’t about certainty, it’s about alignment. “You should feel like your most authentic self in your relationship. And if the relationship is damaging your mental health, and your partner is unwilling to own their part … that’s a red flag.”
The first time I ended my relationship, it was like I was ripping off a band-aid. Fast. Determined. Afraid that if I paused I’d be convinced to return to the purgatory I was fleeing. There were moments when some well-chosen words might have undone me completely. Moments when I wanted to run back. When the grief felt heavier than the marriage ever had. But by then, the damage was done. I’d crossed the point of no return.
The second time around, my indecision was even more painful. I’d invested so much more – emotionally, mentally, financially. My children had too, and that was because of me. I’d been older and, I thought, wiser.
In the end, a specific incident necessitated the end of that relationship, freeing from the torment of indecision.
That torment is what Torn is about. Not the aftermath of separation, but the before. The indecision. The heartbreak. The quiet, private pain of trying to decide whether to leave the life you built or keep sacrificing yourself to stay in it. And about what comes next.
* Name has been changed.
Torn (Pantera Press) by Nicole Madigan is out now.
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