When Leaving is the Bravest Choice: A New Way to Think About Divorce

I'll never forget the conversation that changed how I think about divorce entirely.

A friend sat across from me at brunch, looking exhausted in a way that had nothing to do with sleep. She'd been married for ten years and finally said what she'd held in for months: "I think I want to leave. Does that make me a failure?"

I didn't know what to say at first. But watching her - seeing how much courage it took to speak those words out loud-I realized something important: maybe leaving isn't the weak choice we've been told it is.

Maybe sometimes it's the bravest one.

The Conversation We're Not Having

I'm pretty new to relationship coaching, but I've been thinking a lot about this question: What if we've got it backwards? What if the most courageous thing isn't always staying and fighting for a relationship that's hurting you, but having the honesty to walk away?

I know that sounds controversial. We've all grown up hearing "never give up," "marriage takes work," and "for better or worse." And yes, relationships definitely require effort. But I'm learning there's a huge difference between working on a relationship and completely losing yourself in one.

That Moment of Knowing

I've noticed something in conversation with friends, and now in my early coaching work. There's this moment people describe - a moment of really painful clarity. And it's not what you'd expect. There's no dramatic fight, no betrayal, no obvious bad guy.

It's much quieter.

It's lying next to someone and feeling completely alone. It's realizing you're just going through the motions rather than actually living. It's that heavy feeling every time you come home. It's looking ahead and thinking, "I can't do this for another thirty years."

That moment scares people because deep down, they know what it means. And they've heard their whole lives that even thinking it makes them selfish or weak.

But I'm not sure that's true.

The Stories That Keep Us Stuck

I'm still learning, but here are some beliefs I'm questioning:

"You're giving up too easily." If someone has spent years trying to fix something that keeps breaking, are they really giving up easily? Or are they finally being honest with themselves?

"Think of everything you'll lose." Sure, divorce involves loss. But what about what's being lost right now? Peace of mind. Joy. A sense of self. Don't those matter too?

"You just need to try harder." Sometimes, I wonder if the problem isn't effort. Maybe the relationship just isn't right, and no amount of trying will change that fundamental truth.

"Divorce will destroy your kids." As a parent and someone who has observed couples in toxic relationships, it can be more harmful for them to watch their parents in an unhealthy relationship. Wouldn't it be worse for kids to grow up watching a loveless, resentful relationship and thinking that's what love is supposed to look like?

"You'll regret it." Maybe. But couldn't you also regret staying for another ten years and losing even more of yourself?

What I'm Learning About Staying

Here's something I've been noticing: staying in the wrong relationship has real costs, too.

It costs you your authenticity. You become really good at pretending—acting okay when you're not, smiling when you're hurting, and playing a role while feeling empty inside.

It costs you your energy. You're so focused on keeping the peace and avoiding conflict that there's nothing left for the things that used to excite you.

It cost you your future. Every year you stay is another year you're not available for something better - whether that's a healthier partnership or just a more honest life.

And if you have kids, what are you teaching them? That love is supposed to hurt? That commitment means sacrificing your happiness?

What I'm Seeing About Divorce

I'll be honest- I'm still early in this work. But I've been paying attention, and here's what I'm observing:

Divorce isn't the disaster we've all been warned about. Yes, it's hard. Yes, it's painful. Yes, there are millions of complicated logistics to deal with.

But I've also watched people come alive after making that choice.

I've seen the relief on someone's face when they stop pretending. I've watched people rediscover parts of themselves they'd completely forgotten about. I've heard people say things like, "I didn't know I could feel this peaceful," or "I'm finally myself again."

That has to mean something.

The Real Question

So here's what I think we should be asking- not "Can this marriage be saved?" but:

"Do I actually want to save it?"

Not because you're scared of being alone. Not because of what your family will say. Not because you've already put in so many years. Not because leaving seems too hard.

But because you genuinely, truly want to be in this relationship.

If the answer is no- or even "I'm not sure anymore" - that's worth paying attention to.

Permission You Might Need

You don't technically need anyone's permission to leave. But if hearing it helps, here's what I believe:

You're allowed to change your mind about a commitment you made when you were younger and had less information.

You're allowed to want more than what you have.

You're allowed to put your wellbeing first - even if it upsets people

You're allowed to say, "I gave this everything I had, and it still not working."

You're allowed to be both sad about your marriage ending and relieved at the same time.

And you're allowed to leave.

Rethinking Courage

I think we've been celebrating the wrong thing. We applaud couples who've been married for fifty years without asking if they've been happy. We praise people who "tough it out" without considering what they've given up to do it.

But what if courage sometimes looks like telling the truth, disappointing people, facing the unknown, or

choosing the harder path now because you know it leads to somewhere better?

What if courage is looking at your one life and saying, "I deserve more than this"?

What's possible

I can't promise that leaving will be easy. I can't tell you there won't be difficult days, second-guessing, or messy feelings to work through.

But I can tell you what I'm seeing: On the other side of that hard decision is a version of you who isn't constantly compromising what matters most. Someone who feels lighter. Someone who laughs genuinely. Someone who's building a life that actually fits.

That person is worth fighting for.

If This Is You

If you're reading this and recognizing yourself- if you're the one wondering if wanting to leave makes you a bad person- here's what I'm learning:

You're not bad. You're not selfish. You're not weak.

You're being honest. You're hurting. And you're allowed to choose yourself.

That's not failure.

That might be the bravest thing you can do.

I'd love to hear your perspective on this. Have you been through this? Are you going through it now? What do you wish someone had told you? Let's talk about it in the comments- I'm still learning, and your experience matters.