Second time’s the charm.

Emma Mitchell - 23 Feb 18

I have agreed to get married for the second time in ten years. Not that big a deal, really; every day you hear of people who get married for the second or even third time, but for me it’s a huge deal. My first marriage was pretty awful. Years of being worn down emotionally. Of thinking it was my fault we were like this. Of thinking less and less about myself. Until one day, I looked at my future and what it promised in this marriage, and I left. I packed two suitcases and took our six year old daughter to my parents’ house until I found one of our own.

That was the easy part! Getting through the days, weeks and months that follow a separation as you head into a divorce are some of the hardest days I have ever lived through. I swore to anyone in earshot that I would never, ever marry again; I was also pretty sure I could never even live with another man. I’d only ever be happy to date and therefore be in control of my life and home. My space. I thought this would be my forever, and to be honest I was OK with it. I also changed my name back to my maiden name and declared I would never again change it for any man! I’d had a very ill-timed fling with a younger friend whilst getting divorced and that only cemented my need to be in control and keep myself separate from being entwined with another person. I’d failed at this twice in two years; clearly, I was no good at it.

Just as I was really getting into spending time alone, watching boxsets until 3am or listening to podcasts in bed on a Saturday afternoon whilst eating toasties, my friend introduced me to a male friend of hers. I agreed to a cuppa at his flat one Sunday lunchtime after a few days of texting. I had envisaged that I’d be there maybe an hour or two, and then we’d go our separate ways. Maybe I’d gain a new friend. When we came up for air after lots of chat about music and favourite bands (of which we had lots in common), I realised it was 5pm! We were honest with each other from the beginning: how we’d been hurt, what we were afraid of, the scars we have from before.

Eighteen months later, we have a beautiful new house, we are planning a wedding, and I am 99% decided that I will change my name. Getting engaged was fairly spur of the moment, but we’d had a few difficult months with illness in the family and really felt that sometimes you just have to go for it, and clichéd as it may be, life really is very short. My daughter danced around, excited as a loon for about two days at the news. For me, it’s been a strange feeling. On one hand I am so excited to be marrying this amazing man, but on the other there has been this small part of me that is worried about being judged. Judged for marrying again when I swore I wouldn’t; judged for trusting someone again to that point; judged for being happy when I spent so long being sad. It’s a complicated emotion; something I’d never had any experience of before, much like the rest of being an adult, really!

The chapter of my life when my daughter and I were our own little family, two and a half years, were some of the hardest, but sweetest times of my life. Sometimes I was terrified; sometimes I loved the feeling of she and I against the world (with lots of family support). It definitely taught me about what I can achieve on my own, and more about my own parenting abilities than the first six years of her life when I always felt like the less adept parent. I was a single parent, and I was good at it.

Now we are a few months into a new chapter – hopefully a really long one.

Emma Mitchell

View profile for posts, events and more info