The Cost of Staying Quiet

When my marriage ended, my children were 14, 12, and 10. I thought I was protecting them by staying quiet — by not saying too much, by not staining their view of their dad. I believed silence was kinder.

Years later, I realized it wasn’t. They eventually found out the truth on their own — what he did, and why we divorced. If I had been more open with them from the start, it might have spared them years of confusion and mental anguish. Sometimes, protecting our children means trusting them with honesty.

I wish I had asked for half of his pension plan. At the time, it didn’t even cross my mind. Divorce consumes you — you’re trying to hold everything together, and some things just don’t seem urgent. But years later, you see the long view, and you realize how much that decision mattered.

I also wish I had asked for fairer child support. I trusted too much and wanted to stay amicable. I thought that if we both acted like adults, we could make it work without too much conflict. I was wrong.

There’s nothing left that needed to be said to my ex-husband — we said it all. But if I could go back, I would say less to appease and more to protect myself and my kids. I spent too much energy trying to keep the peace.

I should have fought harder for more child support. My ex kept defaulting on payments, time after time. It wasn’t until my eldest was married with children that he finally finished paying it back. I had to keep taking him to court just to make him start again. Those were years when I needed that money the most — years when it could have made a difference for the kids.

The most stressful part of the divorce wasn’t the paperwork or the courts. It was the children — watching how the separation affected them. I tried so hard to make things amicable, to reduce their pain, to save them from the conflict. But even then, you can’t shield them from everything.

He always said we didn’t need lawyers — that we could be rational and figure things out ourselves. I wanted to believe that. I wanted to believe he was being fair. Later, I found out he had already retained a lawyer months before I even knew. That betrayal stung more than any argument.

Family and friends became my lifeline. They were the ones who grounded me, who reminded me I wasn’t crazy for feeling everything I did. Sometimes, you just need people who see you clearly when you’ve lost sight of yourself.

My lawyer was amazing. She gave me the facts straight up and guided me every step of the way. The irony is, she told me to fight for more — for the pension, for the support — and I didn’t listen. I was too focused on keeping the peace. I thought being agreeable was the mature thing to do. Looking back, I realize that standing up for yourself is not aggression. It’s self-respect.

After it was all finalized, there wasn’t much contact. The children lived with me full-time. Any communication that needed to happen went through them — either in writing or through short messages. It wasn’t ideal, but it was peaceful.

I’ve learned that silence can feel like strength, but it can also become a prison. I stayed quiet to protect everyone — except myself.

If I could speak to that version of me again, I’d tell her:
Don’t be afraid to tell the truth. Protecting others shouldn’t mean losing yourself.