‘When my marriage broke down, I was told I would look sad, mad, bad – or all three’
“Hell yes, I will wash my dirty linen in public,” said Alice Evans on Monday, as she publicly revealed her devastation at her apparent split with fellow actor, Ioan Griffiths.
In a series of emotional tweets, some later deleted, Alice claimed that her “beloved husband/soulmate of 20 years” had “announced he is to leave his family, starting next week. Me and our young daughters are very confused and sad. We haven’t been given a reason except that he ‘no longer loves me’. I’m so sorry.”
Her raw grief and disbelief emanated off the screen. Those words, plus others claiming she had been “mentally tortured” and “gaslit” created a media maelstrom. Some praised her honesty, others derided it.
For so long, the revelation of relationship break-ups, especially celebrity ones, have followed a well-trodden path. A polished spin of “conscious uncoupling” and “remaining committed to our children”. They nod to a mutual decision, so as to leave reputations and egos intact.
What they don’t reflect is the blindsiding shock, the tormented, sleepless nights, the ugly crying and the gut-wrenching reality of a marriage breakdown – and a new generation of women are refusing to be quiet about it.
My story shares similarities with Alice’s. I had been with my husband for more than two decades and had two children with him when I was blindsided by his decision to end our marriage, two years ago.
Like Alice, I was previously confident and in control. Then absolutely floored and broken by the split. Also, and significantly, I have chosen to write publicly about the pain it caused me. It took me six months, and I was nervous about the repercussions – I knew it scuppered any chances of reconciliation and risked alienation or anger from mutual friends.
Like Alice, I was cautioned, both by those I knew and those I didn’t, that by doing so I would look sad, mad, bad. Or all three. Then they said “think of the children”. Which is the one that gets all mothers.
I know the benefits to staying silent, but I think that it’s important, no, strike that, essential, to shine a light on this agonising, mind-scrambling experience. By sharing our story it offers others going through the same thing comfort, solidarity and hope.
Being left, rejected, abandoned, especially if there is infidelity involved, is often the most agonising experience a person will ever go through and to suffer it alone exponentially increases the pain.
When I was writing about my break-up I took inspiration from How to Fail author and podcaster Elizabeth Day, who has written openly about her divorce, miscarriages and fertility issues, steadfast in her refusal to accept “there is nobility in invisibility”.
After all, who does it suit to stay silent? The person who has chosen to walk away, the person who has broken vows and left a trail of smashed hearts behind them? I think so.
Alice talked in her tweet about “six months” of “yes/no/maybe.” This yo-yo-ing happened to me, too. And it was, hands down, the worst time of my life. I lost two stone in weight and, as Alice puts it, “my mind”.
Some critics have labelled Alice’s tweets a “performance break-up”. They are probably the same people who accused Chrissy Teigen of sharing her miscarriage at the end of last year to gain publicity. This makes me furious. I think it’s important that the challenges we face are reflected in the media. And I applaud the fact that our generation of women is refusing to be silent – on this; on the struggles of inequality in parenting and the workplace; on losing babies or going through the menopause.
It is progress that we can talk about these things. Someone told me a story about their grandma who was so ashamed her husband had left her that she told no one for four years – kept the meat order at the butcher as if he was still living at home, even though she couldn’t afford it. Screw that.
In revealing our truth, who does it offend, who does it anger? Those who don’t want to deal with uncomfortable feelings? Those who have an interest in women’s voices not being heard? And maybe those who read it and feel prickly-necked about their behaviour and do not want to confront it.
As a writer, I recognise Alice’s compulsion to truth-tell, to share her story authentically to help others and to hold up a mirror to human behaviour. I’m glad I shared my own. It helped me and it helped others. Countless women have written to me and said I have expedited their recovery, even saved their life. Given them hope when they had none. Given voice to their agony.
What would I say to anyone who finds themselves in such a painful situation? Try to avoid bringing the children into it. Yes, they might be devastated, they might be furious, but they have a right to ownership of their own story and feelings, just as you do. And try to think how you will feel when you read your story in five years’ time and make the necessary adjustments.
Of course, going public with your former spouse’s unreasonable behaviour makes getting back together unlikely. But I think we can safely assume many are past that stage.
My writing has struck a chord with so many women who are going through or have gone through something similar that there is now an online community of broken-hearted – tens of thousands of women who support and comfort each other on my Instagram. By opening up the discussion on how to navigate heartbreak, it helps create the foundations for a brighter future, free from resentment and full of promise.
Amen to that.
Rosie Green’s book How to Heal a Broken Heart is published on February 11 and available to pre-order by clicking here
