Today I recorded an incredible episode for Uncoupled & Unfiltered podcast about grief after a high-conflict marriage and the high-conflict divorce that follows it.
And as I was getting ready for the interview, one question kept circling in my head: what are we actually grieving? Certainly not the relationship. Certainly not the ex. Or could it be? Is it the potential of what I hoped it would be? The partner I wanted but never had?
When I left my marriage - now what feels like ions ago - I was told so many times: you will grieve him, just wait, allow yourself to feel it, you will miss him, your heart will grow fonder with the distance. And I remember saying, every single time - no. I won’t be grieving. There was nothing to grieve. I didn’t lose anything. I gained everything by leaving. I celebrated my freedom, my courage to recognize something so deeply unhealthy, my strength to walk away from it. My opportunity to stop being an emotional punching bag. To stop being the buffer between my kids and the chaos.
But today, going through grief specifically in a high-conflict situation, I realized - I am still grieving. Just not that past. I’m grieving what was taken from me during all those years. And I hope, as I move farther and farther from that chapter, I will fully recover. But that’s still TBD.
So what is it I’m actually grieving?
My feeling of safety. My ability to trust people. And the before version of myself.
When you lived in an abusive marriage and went through a high-conflict divorce, it steals more than just the family you thought you were creating for life. My biggest grief is the feeling of safety that was taken from me. Because of the circumstances, you are always on high alert. Your body is always in bracing mode - it doesn’t know you’re no longer unsafe. It keeps scanning for danger, anticipating what comes next. Sleep is disrupted. Memory is affected. Your body is chronically fatigued and no amount of rest fixes it. Your cortisol is so high that your body either shuts down entirely or fires off every autoimmune response it has.
In six years since my separation, I experienced a true sense of peace just once. One week. When I traveled. Even though it was short-lived, it showed me how much my body is still carrying, still remembering - and what it actually feels like to be truly relaxed and not in fear. It was magical.
Can survivors reach that feeling permanently? I think so - even though I don’t have the full answer yet. I believe that with the right support, with the right people around you, when your body finally receives the message that you are safe and that environment stays consistent — your brain and body will eventually align. And that feeling will become mostly permanent.
Why mostly? Because I don’t think anyone comes out of that environment completely unscathed. The triggers will always be there. But your reaction to them? That gets smaller. And the biggest gift you receive is awareness - the knowledge to recognize the signals your body sends, know exactly where they’re coming from, and know how to soothe them. That’s the tool that changes everything.
The second thing I’m grieving - trusting people - is actually the most fixable of all three. And I know I’m finally in a good place with it because of the work I’ve done on myself. The truth is, it was never really about not trusting others. What happened was you lost trust in your own instincts because of what you survived. Once you unlock that - once you learn to trust yourself again - you stop grieving that piece entirely.
And then there’s the before version of myself. This is where I am conflicted and I don’t know if I will ever be able to fully resolve it - and I think I am OK with that.
On one hand, I grieve the girl who felt real joy and real hope without working for it. Who was simply present in the room and didn’t feel the need to scan it. Who just loved without asking questions or doubting. I grieve her lightness - not the naivety. The way she moved through the world fearlessly before she was shown otherwise.
But here’s where it gets complicated. I don’t want to be her again. Because she didn’t know what I know now. She couldn’t see what I see. I am a better mom today than I was when I was her - I am present, aware, curious instead of just surviving. The knowledge I carry because I was trying to make sense of my experience, the way I understand people, the way I can read a room, recognize a pattern, trust a feeling - none of that existed in her. She was lighter, absolutely! But I am finally aligned and I love it. I’ll take it every single day if it means I feel more comfortable with who I am today and I finally found my purpose.
I hope - and hope is something I got back after it was taken from me — that one day my body will truly release what it’s been holding and start feeling safe again. I’m very optimistic it will happen.
So if you find yourself asking why you’re feeling sad about someone who made your life a nightmare - maybe it’s not about them at all. Maybe it’s about you.
Because that realization and acceptance - that the grief isn't for them, it's for you — that's the first step. That's the moment you stop looking at what they did and start looking at what was taken from you in the process.
Allow yourself to sit with it. Feel it. Let it flow through your body. Let tears stream down your face. Scream if you need to…
Because accepting that you might be grieving yourself - not the relationship, not the life you thought you’d have, but actually yourself - that is the beginning of real recovery.
Congratulations! You’re on the path now: every single step from here takes you back to yourself. The question is just: do you want to go back to who you were before? Or do you want to create the version of yourself you always wanted to be? Because now that’s entirely in your hands.
Love this blog Ksenia