After They Leave: Divorce and co-parenting grief in the hours you didn't plan for

When your marriage ended, you may have known it was for the better, or you may still have had doubts, but felt you had no choice. But what most often surprises people is the amount of time alone on the other side of the ending. And this time alone –– stretches of unstructured hours or days without kids, the very time you were needing a break –– can feel just unbelievably quiet. This is where the deepest grief surfaces.

It’s the gaps in familiar moments that hurt most: mealtimes, end of the workday, morning and nighttime routines. The beginnings and endings that hold a new tension when you’re not busy.

If you’re newly divorced, this may be one of the roughest periods, and it may still feel turbulent with unexpected outpourings of grief. And for those many years on, much of this no longer feels dramatic. Yet it’s still weighted with questions of meaning and purpose interlaced with sadness, nostalgia, or anger. There may also be regret, if not for the bigger picture, then for the smaller moments you wish the kids had experienced differently.

The unnamed moment at handoff

There is a moment co-parents know that doesn’t quite have a name yet. It may happen at school events, in the doorway you used to walk through together, or in the parking lot you chose for the handoff. You look up, and they look up, and for a split-second, your eyes meet when you’re both caught off guard. Neither of you intended it, and perhaps you both look away to make sure the moment doesn’t linger. You’re focused on the kids now.

For some, it may feel harder to centre the kids because of the pain that lives in the broken space where love used to be. The guilt that follows is often a source of unnamed shame.

It's in the moments when grief arrives, but the body's signals go unnoticed, that people often end up in tangles with their ex-partners. Building capacity to tolerate the grief is building capacity to centre the kids. For many, this seems counterintuitive; people try hard to set their sadness aside when the kids are present. But this often keeps people stuck, unable to move through the layers of grief that need expression in order to heal.

The body remembers what the mind tries to manage

Grief doesn’t only live in thoughts. It lives in the body. And it lives in the space you shared with your ex-partner. When grief isn’t metabolised somatically, it often leaks out sideways through tension, urgency, defensiveness, or attempts to control the situation. These are the moments that escalate co-parenting dynamics. A lot of the tangle between co-parents isn't really about the tangle. It's about grief that hasn't had anywhere else to go.

The instinct, especially in front of the kids, is to push the grief down. You're trying to protect them. But grief that gets consistently pushed down doesn't disappear. It stays in the body, and what you'll usually notice first is that you're more on edge, less patient, quicker to bristle at something small.

The paradox is letting grief be felt in small, manageable amounts to create space for more steadiness to emerge. It's what lets you hold the two things at the same time: your own loss, and the child standing in front of you needing something now.

Perhaps strangely, feeling more grief – is the healing.

You can be doing all the things –– co-parenting as respectfully as possible, regulating yourself, doing the inner work –– and still feel the weight of what’s gone. A common misconception is that feeling grief means you aren’t healing. The opposite is true: feeling your grief is the healing. This is the physical memory of having loved someone, having built something, and watching it come apart.

Some prefer to date immediately, while others need long periods of solitude before considering it, and others may never intend to date again. But many people moving through divorce are commonly told, directly or indirectly, to move on.

Divorce grief is disenfranchised –– it doesn’t have social rules and rituals around support and emotional processing the way bereavement does. This compounds the loneliness. Friends and family don’t know what to say. You may feel judged in relationships that never carried judgment before. Shared friendships may fracture along "sides". These are the secondary losses of grief: people and places you treasured and lost when you separated from your ex-partner.

But this grief doesn’t move or shift on command. You may be learning that it has its own life, its own ebb and flow based on what’s happening for your kids, your ex-partner, and particularly during holidays or world events you think you’d be together for.

The grief is particularly complex because the person you lost isn’t gone. There’s a new relationship being managed and logistics to figure out, and your body still remembers the old. Because of this, you’re confronting triggers and reminders perhaps more often than you would like.

The acknowledgement that may not come

For some people in the aftermath of a difficult separation, there is a particular wound: the apology that doesn’t arrive.

You may have done your own work, looked honestly at your part, and apologised where you caused harm. And you may still be waiting, quietly, sometimes for years, for some version of that to come back to you. For someone to simply say, I see I hurt you.

This is often the work in therapy during divorce grief: accepting that it may not come — or likely won't.

What becomes possible, slowly, is learning to meet that need from inside yourself. To bring to your own hurt the tenderness you wanted from them. It’s not closure, but something quieter and more sustainable: I see I was hurt. I deserve care when I’m hurt.

And you learn to tend that ache yourself.

What co-parenting grief is actually asking

Co-parenting after a hard separation asks a lot. It asks you to stay in functional contact with someone you may have needed to leave for your own safety, your own sanity, or to protect what your children were seeing modelled at home. Co-parenting grief asks something else of you: to feel the loss.

If you’re navigating a hard separation or still feeling the ache of a divorce many years ago, you are not alone. Sharing your grief with others is one way to begin expressing your love for what was — be it through writing, talking, or any creative medium you like. But grief does want to be expressed, to move through you, so you can make room for what comes after.

A small place to start

If any of this is resonating, here is something you can try.

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When the kids leave next, before you fill the time, pause.

Notice where the drop lands in your body. Is it in your chest, your stomach, the back of your throat?

Give it a word: heavy, hollow, swirling, still.

Ask it directly: what are you holding for me?

Sit quietly. Listen for the answer — it may come as another sensation, or it may come in words.

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You aren’t trying to fix anything. You’re letting your grief be witnessed by you, even briefly. A tiny bit more noticing helps move the grief through.

Co-parenting grief asks you to be in two seasons at once. The season of loss, and the season of being needed. It is not a failure of healing if those seasons don’t resolve neatly into each other.

Can you give yourself even one percent more permission to feel the drop when it comes, instead of stepping over it?

Perhaps try on:

I am allowed to grieve in the gaps.

The hours alone are not punishment. They are where the grief lives, and where I get to meet it.

A note on support

Therapy for divorce and co-parenting grief isn’t only for the acute phase right after separation. Some of the most important work happens later, when the dust has settled and what’s left is the long, quiet grief of what was lost alongside the ongoing reality of co-parenting a child who is watching both of you.

You’re welcome to get in touch if you’d like to know about online divorce grief support groups. Email me at michelle@michellegoldsmiththerapy.com.

Therapy for Divorce Grief

Therapy for Relationships

You may also appreciate this piece on grief and seasonal changes:

When the Season Changes Before You’re Ready: Reflections on when grief comes back, and your body knows before you do‍ ‍

When the Season Changes Before You’re Ready: Reflections on when grief comes back, and your body knows before you do

If you’re navigating divorce or separation, you may notice that seasonal changes land differently than they used to. Sometimes grief returns unexpectedly, and you can feel thrown. Changes in light, temperature, or the rhythms of everyday life can stir memories and sensations before the mind understands why.

Seasonal changes can unexpectedly trigger waves of grief after divorce. An exceptionally windy day in spring when sunlight is returning and bringing longer days and buds on trees. Daffodils popping up, chirping birds, and warmer temperatures. Or the chill of a breeze that calls us to grab a hat and scarf, darker and shorter days, bare trees, and quiet gardens.

The sensory experience of seasonal change can either uplift or rattle us. You may experience relief, or you may have been so comfortable where you were that the change is unsettling. We notice these things and chat with each other about them: “Finally more light” or “It’s so dark in the morning”. It’s an easy point of connection to resonate with each other about how we’re experiencing the weather.

When the season shifts, what do you notice first?

It could be the thought that you need a scarf, or the feeling of being cold. But whether we are aware of our bodily experience or not, it’s actually our bodily experience that registers to us first. We reach for a scarf because our body has told our mind: “You’re cold”.

During seasonal changes, our bodies take notice before our minds. We usually notice our thoughts and opinions about the change: “It’s so nice to be able to drive home in sunlight.”

But the resonance, memory and felt sense of sensory experience also give us information which may begin in our nervous system before we have words for it. When this is not noticed or acknowledged, we may feel restlessness or even excitement that isn’t explicitly linked to something we fully understand.

We usually hear something like, “I don’t know why. I just feel ____.”

Your body understands experience before your mind has language for it. There’s nothing wrong with this process; it’s simply our nervous system doing what it’s designed to do: protect us and keep us alive.

Why Seasonal Changes Affect You Differently During Grief‍ ‍

Every season is a transition, and transitions mean loss. When you’re already experiencing grief or loss, this can be especially jarring or triggering. Alternatively, there could also be a bubbling excitement as the season meets the shifts already stirring within you. When you are on time with a season, you may feel a steady flow as you move further into the changes you want to embrace. The season has met you where you want to go. You feel seen, held, and ready.

For someone moving through divorce grief, the transition of separation itself can make the word transition feel loaded. One of the biggest transitions of your life is either happening right now, has already happened, or is still unfolding in ways you didn't expect. The outer world shifting mirrors the inner world that has already been upended.

Why Transition Can Feel Like Loss After Divorce

Seasonal transitions can be especially tender for people navigating divorce grief, because the rhythms of everyday life often carry memories of the relationship that once shaped them. When spring arrives and everyone else seems to be exhaling with relief, you might still be working hard just to get through the day.

What is the first thought you have about yourself here?

Many say things like, “I'm not doing it right; I should be happier; I should be over this; Spring should feel good." A mismatch between the actual season and our internal season can be registered as an unsettling dissonance. The world doesn't get me. When our inner world doesn't feel mirrored, it often triggers loneliness and upsets a sense of belonging and of being on time. Social expectations, self-judgment, and the sense that everyone else is moving through life on schedule while you're stuck can compound feelings of isolation. For some, this particular ache also goes further back than the divorce.

When Your Inner Season Doesn’t Match the World Outside

What are the small, ordinary seasonal things that quietly hold the shape of your life that's changed?

What happens when those things arrive again without the person who shared them?

Seasonal shifts are reminders of the routines and rituals you shared with your partner. Remembering what you were doing this time last year, whether it was still with your partner, or remembering your first season alone without them, brings up layers of grief which can feel surprising or unwelcome. Triggers of internal comparison to how you were doing a year or several years ago might stimulate regret or self-blame. At the same time, the layers of sadness resurfacing bring reminders you thought you had resolved for a moment.

You remember the life you once had, and you realise this is gone. This is the dissonance.  Not feeling settled in your current life situation can increase pining and yearning for what was lost or for what is still desired to fill the gaps.

The Ordinary Things That Quietly Hold the Shape of a Lost Life Together

Then there are the ordinary things. The walk you might have taken on the first warm afternoon or favourite seasonal meals. The rituals so small and habitual you never thought to value them, until the season arrived again and they had nowhere to land. These aren’t dramatic losses, but the quiet ones that accumulate over time in the gap between who you were and who you are now.

The world doesn't pause for grief.

Spring arrives and people gather visibly outdoors, in ways you weren’t witnessing in seasons prior. Park benches and outdoor tables of people in twos and families together. Or in colder months, there is the retreat indoors and a focus on holiday gatherings centred on coupledom and family unity. There is something uniquely painful about witnessing seasonal joy when your own inner season doesn't match it. Not because others are doing anything wrong, but because their ease makes visible what you are carrying. You can feel invisible and exposed at the same time.

A Simple Body-Based Practice for Divorce Grief

So, what can we do with this awareness?

By gently bringing our attention to our sensory experiences during seasonal changes, we can deepen our awareness of shifts in emotional and nervous system states. Noticing is always the first step, but to really work with the information we have, understanding the meaning we attach to these shifts takes us deeper.

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Here is a small place to start.

Pause and notice what you feel in your body right now.

What area of the body does your attention move toward? Is it more of an overall sensing, a specific body part, or perhaps both?

Give a descriptive word to the quality of sensation within your body (for example: swirling, heavy, fluttering, still)

Ask your body directly – what are you telling me?

Then sit quietly with this, and listen for an answer – the answer may come through as another sensation, or it may come through in words.

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Every time we pause to listen to our bodies, we are tending to our own internal season.

Whatever you noticed, that’s enough for now. Even asking our bodies the question, without waiting for an answer, is a place to start.

Before you go, here is an invitation to put on your warm hat and gloves when it's not winter, to frolic outside in the snow when it's not spring. Sometimes the seasons mirror our internal changes. Sometimes they assist us in moving deeper into shifts we've begun. But other times, you may feel out of step and not on time with the outer season. The season may be asking something of you that you weren't ready to give. This might even mirror the way your partnership or marriage ended, or another loss unfolded. Your internal season may very well be autumn, when the outer season is summer. 

Can you give yourself even 1% more permission to not be ready today?

Perhaps try on:

I accept myself as not ready. The outer season is asking something of me I cannot yet give.

I’m allowed this time to be in my own season of grief and change.

This kind of exploration can help you move through the waves of grief that sometimes return after divorce, with less self-blame and more compassion.

You might also be interested in reading:

After They Leave: Divorce and co-parenting grief in the hours you didn't plan for

Therapy for Divorce Grief

For the Queer Expat Living With Uncertainty

Finding Belonging When the World Feels Unstable

For many queer expats and Third Culture Kids (TCKs), belonging has never been simple. In recent years, it has become something else entirely: precarious. Across the world, LGBTQIA+ rights are shifting–sometimes quietly, sometimes violently. Laws change. Visas tighten. Protections disappear. What once felt “safe enough” can become uncertain overnight. For queer people, this instability doesn’t stay abstract. It lives in the body.

You may notice it as a low-level vigilance that never quite turns off. A constant scanning and wondering: Is it still okay to be me here? You might feel grief for places you once loved but no longer trust. If you’re carrying fear, exhaustion, or sadness about the state of the world, you are not overreacting. Your body is responding intelligently to real conditions.

When survival becomes the priority, we do what humans have always done: we adapt. We endure. We keep going with as much grace as we can. And still, you deserve more than survival.

When Home Is Conditional

Many queer expats carry an unspoken truth: My right to exist safely depends on geography.

You may have chosen where to live not only based on work, love, or opportunity, but on laws, healthcare access, and how visible you’re allowed to be. You may resent this reality while also feeling pressure to stay flexible, to keep a backup plan, a second passport, an exit strategy.

For those who grew up cross-culturally, this can echo an earlier pattern: Belonging was always temporary, conditional, or context-dependent. When queerness is added to that mix, especially in a world where LGBTQIA+ rights are being rolled back, the nervous system learns something very specific:

Stay ready.

Stay adaptable.

Don’t settle too deeply.

If you feel like you are surviving rather than thriving right now, there is nothing wrong with you. Rage at injustice, grief for safety, and a deep yearning for rest can coexist. There are ways to support yourself inside this instability, even when the world feels unreliable.

I’m here holding hope for you even if you’re not feeling it in this period.

The Queer Expat Nervous System in Uncertain Times

Global instability around LGBTQIA+ rights often shows up somatically before we can name it emotionally.

You might notice:

• Chronic anxiety without a clear source

• Difficulty settling in relationships or communities

• Hypervigilance around visibility and self-expression

• Grief or anger that feels disproportionate to any single event

• A persistent sense of being “on edge,” even in places that seem safe

For many queer expats, the question isn’t “Who am I?” It’s “Where am I allowed to be myself — and for how long?”

Over time, this kind of instability can erode an internal sense of home.

Why Safety Can’t Only Be External

Legal protections matter. Community matters. Political advocacy matters deeply. And still, when the outside world is unstable, internal safety becomes essential.

Many queer TCKs and expats are already highly reflective, articulate, and socially aware. You may understand exactly why you feel unsettled. But insight alone doesn’t always calm a nervous system shaped by uncertainty, migration, and conditional safety. This is where somatic work can help.

Rather than asking you to think your way into feeling better, somatic approaches begin with the body:

• How can I notice safety in my body, even briefly?

• Where does my system already know how to settle?

• When I move into anger, fear or hopelessness, how does my body know how to move away from there?

• What would it mean to belong to yourself, even when the world is unreliable?

Somatic approaches are more about awareness and sensing into how it feels right now will not always be how I will feel. Because we are primed toward movement and change in our biology. Our bodies want to work with us. And we can help our bodies along by staying in sensation longer than we might be used to.

This isn’t about bypassing reality or excusing the horrors of injustice out there. It’s about resourcing yourself within it.

Belonging When the World Keeps Shifting

My work with queer expats and globally mobile adults is grounded in one core truth:

When external belonging is fragile, self-belonging becomes a form of resilience.

Through gentle somatic practices, movement, and emotionally attuned inquiry, I support people who are living with:

• Ongoing uncertainty about where they can safely exist

• Identity fractures shaped by migration, queerness, and loss

• Burnout, illness, divorce, or grief layered onto expatriate life

• A lifetime of adapting rather than inhabiting themselves

This work does not promise certainty. What it offers is quieter and more durable. It’s about developing an internal sense of authority and grounding that travels with you, a relationship with self that isn’t dependent on borders, It’s a place to land when the world feels hostile or unpredictable.

Belonging, in this context, is not about finding the perfect place. It’s about learning how to stay with yourself, with compassion and honesty, even as the world continues to shift. This is a form of resilience no policy change can take away.