“When fathers separate, the separation usually has a (female) name”

They were abandoned: Here, five mothers vomit who had to explain to the children why their father wants to “change”.

Clara, two sons (7 and 11)

“My sweet world broke on a Friday night, suddenly, without any warning, at some point, after I had put the children to bed in the evening and Martin came home from a jog.” Freshly showered, he sat down at our long dining table, looked at me silently and I suddenly find myself standing in front of him, worried for him, then stunned by what he had to say, sobbing, “I can not do it anymore.” “We just work side by side.” “We’re not happy anymore.” Again and again, these sentences hit me, I could not say anything, just looked silently at the man I had been with for twelve years, ten of whom were married – and with whom I had two children in I could not move, I could not think, I just felt that suddenly everything was different while he kept going.

I do not know, after how “I can not do more” I finally could formulate a sentence again. “Tell me, are you just finishing our relationship?” I heard myself ask and already knew the answer. Martin is a lawyer who does not say anything he does not mean. His “That’s no use to us anymore” finally sealed the end and I knew it was – with our marriage, our lives fourfold. Most of all, at that moment, the world of our nine- and five-year-old sons was sleeping, sleeping in their beds and having no idea that their father was destroying everything – our family.

There was another, much younger woman and suddenly I felt damn old

That there was another, I knew immediately. Even if he denied it. I knew it anyway. If men The separation usually has a name. I just saw too many marriages and relationships in my environment going to pieces. Only I never thought that it could catch me.

We were one of those “we-have-made-it” families: with a chic old apartment, good jobs, piano playing and athletic children and a well-stocked circle of friends. I would be lying if I said that we were always happy together. In our full life, we were tightly scheduled with appointments and commitments, because you no longer fall over each other every night on the kitchen table, there are often Zoff. But we were still a family, always had a good relationship, always had something to tell us.

All of this Martin suddenly did not care anymore. Although I begged him to think of the boys, of both of us, and of what bound us. He had made his decision. I had no chance. It ended with him sleeping on the sofa and me in our bed, where he never slept.

I do not remember how I made the following weeks. I moved like in a fog field, the ground below was cotton wool. I staggered through the days with the kids, in the office, trying to work, not showing it to me, running to the bathroom at every opportunity to cry.

Martin and I tried to avoid each other as much as possible, although we stayed in the apartment together. We did not talk to the children about the separation for a long time, just wanted to tell them if we knew what to do next. That he now slept in the guest room, we told the boys with his nocturnal snoring. They believed it.

My life has since been a single farce. Outwardly, I continued to mimic the happy married man as he met with his girlfriend, and at some point I signed up for Tinder and chatted with men at least ten years younger than myself. I had to get out of this mire of disappointment and humiliation.

I did not want to see myself for what I was: an abandoned man

Perhaps because our separation had the commonest reason ever: a woman twenty years younger than me. When your husband goes around with a girl who could have been his daughter, you suddenly feel damn old.

I hated him for giving me that cliché. For what he did to me and the unsuspecting children with his butterflies in his stomach. And I was ashamed of him for being such a reckless partner and father.

During this time, I talked about it only with my family and my best friends. The conversations and appointments saved me from the abyss – and the countless hours in the gym. I tormented myself with weights almost daily, as if my growing muscles could have masked my dwindling power.

Martin and I tried to be quiet, in the interest of the boys. But when they were not there, we screamed at each other and I slapped words to my head that I’d never said to anyone before. I despised him deeply. He disgusted me in his unmistakable infatuation with our shambles.

Eventually, we then told the kids to eat at one of our lying dinners. The little one immediately began to cry, the big one just stared at his sausage bread in front of him on the plate and said nothing at all. I can not remember how the evening went on. I suppressed it, perhaps because my pain was nothing compared to hers, because Martin rammed a knife into their hearts.

I wanted to put those two back in my stomach to keep them from what was done to them: the end of their good childhood.

I hated him for what he did to us

At some point it was clear that we could not go on living like this. It gnawed me. I moved to a small apartment, which I used on the days when he took care of the children. When I was with the boys, he lived with his girlfriend.

In between, I oscillated back and forth between two lives: as a mother and as a sudden single with 43 years. The one week I smeared lunch sandwiches, in the other I often sat in the morning, completely exhausted in the office, because nothing kept me in the soul and childless apartment and I headless nights with friends or clubs around the ears.

I stood completely beside myself, was without any confidence and still noticed: It must go on. For me and the children. I did not want to be a victim, but especially a very good mother to the boys, as pathetic as that may sound. I talked to them a lot, comforted them, tried to explain what I did not understand myself, and countless times lulled my crying children to sleep – and hated Martin.

When I had the boys on the weekends, I made an appointment with other families, which was not always easy. Separations scare, show that the supposedly holy family can collapse very quickly. The fear of being infected by this disease has made some contact less. Luckily not everyone.

Today I know: every end also means a beginning

We went on vacation with friends, made many trips – I tried to close the gap in our construct with electoral relatives. That helped us three. Also because Martin and I started at some point to deal with each other again reasonably. We wanted to stay together as parents when we could no longer be a family.

Meanwhile, two years have passed since our fateful evening. Our apartment is sold, the divorce is running, and the boys commute back and forth between two homes every two weeks. Martin and I manage to celebrate children’s birthdays together and to have a peaceful time together. This calms me down and scares me that the boys might end up as emotional zombies because of their parents’ broken love. We have all made peace with the situation.

But the way there was an emotional torment that was at times almost unbearable. Martin is still with his girlfriend. And in my life there have been Ben for three months. The story with Martin has not ruined me, even if the pain keeps coming up today. But since I know Ben, I know that I can still trust, love and be happy again. When he looks at me, then I know: every end also means a beginning.

Miriam, a daughter (3)

“At night alone in bed I have murder fantasies: I want to take revenge for a crime for which there is no word and no punishment: He is happy without me.”

What makes me most finished is that not only did I lose my husband, but half the time with my child. I did not want this separation, he fell in love again, zack, out. But why did we buy a huge family bed for a lot of money two weeks before his flash-out, so that it does not get too crowded at night with our little one? I’ll never understand that. In this bed I lie now every other week completely alone. Then Maja is with her father. We are so sensible: parents who only want the best, with pendulum. I make folding boxes as if I were the supplier and my child a service, all very professional. But at night in bed, when I imagine that my child is now cuddling with his dad and the new one, I have murder fantasies. I want to revenge myself for a crime for which there is no word and no punishment: He is happy without me. And he wants my blessing, “so that it is easier for Maja”. I miss you: What kind of a mother is I in the week when my child is not with me?

Nancy, two daughters (6 and 8)

“He always wants to be there for Mareike and Amelie, and I would like to renounce this lifelong presence, which is flourishing now, and he should simply be gone.”

Sometimes I wish he was dead. Then at least I could mourn for him. Like other women who have lost their husband. But my ex is doing great, he is now realizing with his boss herself, from whom I had to listen to for years, what a stupid cow she was. The two start again fully through, both professionally and privately. And he always wants to be there for Mareike and Amelie, really always “. Personally I would like to renounce this presence, which now flowers for life. He should just be gone, that ass. I want to have the man back in love with me. But maybe never. He broke so much for me – even my Thanksgiving joy! My family is from Boston. And there we were visiting my parents when he told me out of the blue that it’s over. “They will take care of her and the children”, he thought and rushed to a meeting with the boss. My family will never celebrate Thanksgiving any more.

So hilfst du dir selbst nach einer Trennung wieder auf die Beine

Hanna, twins (8 years)

"I would have robbed him of the joy, a child at any price - that was not his life plan."

We tried nine years to have a baby before I got pregnant: twins, a boy, a girl. In the 28th SW I got contractions. Hospital, three weeks lie, pulmonary bandaging. When CTG a child suddenly no longer had heart sounds. Emergency C-section. Julia had to be reanimated shortly after birth. She looked like a dead mouse baby. There was little hope that she would survive unscathed. I think my ex had already given her up. And me and our boy with the same. I did not realize that at the moment, I was completely beside the track. But when it went uphill, and I was more often alone with two children on the tummy at the aftercare ward for kangaroos, a very dear intensive-care nurse, to whom I am friends today, said to me comfortingly, "You are not the first Mother, who ends up walking alone with her children here. " And so it came: I would have robbed him of the joy of having a child at any price - that was not his life's plan. He simply has no strength left. And then he quickly became a father again. Without me, with his new girlfriend, very natural and carefree of me and my children Julia and Niklas, which, by the way, are developing magnificently.

Elli, two sons (16 and 17)

"My boys are not in an easy phase, they need their father, but he feels old when he's with them, he has two cute girls now."

I never thought we would just be so interchangeable. My ex has made off the field, as it went with our two boys really nasty into puberty: My Big came out of his room, which was only gambling. And the little one did not come home anymore, he just hung around with his pothead friends. Both were terrible. This constant stink at home, that was not great for me either, but what kind of father is it, if one says in this situation: "And bye, that pulls me here too much down"? That still makes me so angry and stunned that I think they've exchanged them. That can not possibly be the man I once loved and with whom I gave birth to these children. And he loved that one too. But on the other hand, he has remained so frighteningly faithful that I could puke and that is completely clear: He must have always been a complete idiot. My ex just started again. New wife, first little girl, second little girl. Honeymoon they did in Prague, there he was with me too. And now every summer they drive to the holiday home in Denmark, which we used to rent. "It was always so nice with little kids there ..." My boys are still not in an easy phase. They need their father, but they have little contact. He never asks if they want to go to Denmark or do something with their half-sisters. They disturb his image of eternal youth: he is with his new family and thinks how sweet these girls are and what a young father he is. And then he sees the boys and sometimes even me and gets a shock, because he knows that's all a poor lie.

An article from BRIGITTE MOM

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