Love/Grief

The Paradox of Grieving a Partner Whom I Loved and Disliked at the Same Time

Navigating Complex Grief and Healing.

Grief after losing a partner is already complex. But what happens when you’re navigating grief from a complicated relationship you were on the verge of leaving? How do you process the emotional waves of love, anger, sadness, and relief all at once?

This is my story — one of love, loss, and unresolved conflict. I hope that by sharing it, others in similar situations can find comfort and clarity in navigating their own grief and healing process.

On the Brink of Divorce

In November 2013, we were on the brink of divorce when my husband was diagnosed with cancer. Our relationship had been strained for years, and his diagnosis felt like a cruel twist of fate.

Before the diagnosis, living with him was unbearable. He was difficult to get along with — stubborn, controlling, and deeply unhappy. Every night, he would drink half to a full liter of whiskey in a short period, transforming into someone combative, clumsy, and angry. The man I loved disappeared behind a veil of alcohol.

There were nights I found him in a pile of vomit on the floor, and mornings when the smell of liquor clung to the air. One night, he almost set our house on fire. Another night, I found him at the bottom of the stairs, unconscious and bleeding as a pool of blood formed under his head. It was moments like this that left me paralyzed with fear — fear for him, for our two small children, and myself.

Feeling Trapped

At that time, I had no access to our bank accounts or the business. I was a stay-at-home mom with two small children to care for, and every day felt like walking through quicksand. I wanted to leave. I felt desperate for a way out, but he made sure the exits were blocked.

With the support of his parents, I was quietly making plans to escape. It felt like the only way to reclaim my life, my sanity, and the safety of my children. But then, the cancer diagnosis changed everything. Suddenly, I was torn between caring for a man who had hurt me so deeply and the overwhelming guilt of wanting to run.

A Divine Message

One day, I was sitting in my closet, weighed down by the decision I was about to make — whether to stay or leave. And then, I heard a voice. It wasn’t my voice. It wasn’t even something I would say to myself. The words were formal, biblical almost: “Please do not forsake my son, for I love him so.”

At the time, I didn’t consciously know it, but that voice was my invitation from a greater power to accept this challenge and see it as an opportunity for personal growth. Looking back, I now realize that greater power was giving me the strength and courage to face what was ahead. And even though my husband didn’t make it, I was always ok, my kids were ok, and now, 10 years later, we are more than ok.

At that moment, I took those words seriously and chose to stay by my husband’s side.

Becoming His Caretaker

I had to learn to be a nurse. I administered shots to boost his platelets, flushed his lines, and even at one point had to suit up in a hazmat suit to give him antiviral medicine. Caring for him became a full-time job. I stayed with him at Stanford for four months while he underwent a bone marrow transplant. During that time, I left my children behind to be cared for by close friends and family, visiting them once a week. It was an immense sacrifice.

I won’t lie — there were times when I felt resentful. The man who had caused me so much pain was now keeping me from my children. But he was my husband, and I had taken a sacred vow. In moments of quiet reflection, I tried to remind myself that I was doing the right thing. He needed me, even if he had never made me feel like he deserved my care.

A Shift in Our Relationship

As the months passed and he could no longer drink alcohol, something changed. Faced with his own mortality, he calmed down. He wasn’t the same man who would lash out in anger or disappear behind whiskey. He became the man I had once loved — the man I had thought was lost forever.

We became friends again. There was a lightness between us that I hadn’t felt in years. Yet, there was also an unspoken tension. We never talked about the pain he caused. We never addressed his alcoholism. It was as if those things were swept under the rug, never to be spoken of again.

But the reprieve from his darker side felt fragile, and that tension came to a head one day. While we were at Stanford, he casually said, “I can’t wait to go home and have a drink.” That sentence hit me like a brick. I realized in that moment that despite the peace we had found during his illness, nothing had really changed. His desire to drink, the root of so many of our issues, was still there, waiting.

Watching Him Slip Away

As time went on, the reality of his illness became undeniable. His body was weakening, and there was no longer any way to pretend that everything would be okay. Each day brought more complications, more exhaustion, and a growing sense of inevitability.

I had to accept that despite the temporary changes in his personality, we were not going to get our “happy ending.” There was a heaviness in knowing that the man I had once loved, the man who had hurt me, was fading away, and there was nothing I could do to stop it.

Reflecting on the Good Times

We had been married for almost 10 years when he passed — our 10th anniversary was just two weeks after his death. And this October 23rd would have marked 20 years together if we had stayed married.

Early in our relationship, we had a lot of fun together. He took really good care of me, both financially and physically, and I felt protected. I was 21 when I started dating him, and after losing my father at 12, I appreciated how he looked after me. In many ways, he filled that protective role I had been missing. But that is another story for another day (fatherless daughters). Over time, those feelings of safety and fun were overshadowed by his drinking and the growing tension between us.

The Paradox of Love, Anger, and Loss

This is the paradox of grief when you lose someone like my husband — a man you loved and disliked in equal measure. When you’re grieving someone who left behind both tender memories and deep wounds, how do you make sense of that?

After his passing, grief hit me in waves. I felt immense relief, but I was also incredibly angry. Angry about the unresolved issues, for never getting an apology, for him “giving up” and leaving me and the kids to figure everything out on our own. And then there was the guilt. I felt so much guilt for feeling relief — so much that I couldn’t even admit it to anyone. I grieved the loss of potential, of what we could have been if things had been different.

Avoiding the Pain

But instead of confronting these emotions, I did what was familiar — I buried them. I ran into the arms of a man who made me feel alive again, but he ended up being extremely toxic. I wasn’t ready to deal with the grief, the pain, the anger. I just wanted to feel good again, to escape the heaviness that lingered.

Now, in retrospect, I see how dangerous it was to not face those emotions head-on. Burying grief doesn’t make it go away — it just comes back, often in more destructive ways. Running to vices, whether it’s another relationship, substance, or distraction, only prolongs the healing.

But that’s a story for another day. What’s important is the lesson I learned: It’s incredibly important to sit with the pain for a while. It gets better, I promise, but only if you’re willing to face it.

Forgiving Without Closure

Because we never addressed the hurt or alcoholism while he was alive, I had to work through those emotions on my own. I realized, over time, that I didn’t need him to move on. About eight years after his death, I learned about soul blueprints and how we choose the path we want to embark on. My husband was a catalyst for a series of experiences that were necessary for my growth and evolution.

Maybe I’m delusional, but this discovery gave me so much peace and acceptance about the roles we play in each other’s lives. The polarity is how we realize the good. Without the adversity and the pain, I wouldn’t be the person I am today. This is why I don’t have to like the 3D character he played. But I certainly appreciate the 5D soul that he is, and I’m grateful for the role he played. It couldn’t have been easy for him to agree to play that unsavory part, but in doing so, he allowed me to grow. I truly believe that his sole purpose was to be this person and set me and my children on the path we are on today.

Navigating Complex Emotions During Grief and Healing

If you’re reading this and find yourself in a similar place, know that your grief doesn’t have to fit a tidy narrative. It’s okay to feel both sadness and relief. It’s okay to grieve what might have been while acknowledging the pain of what was.

Here are some ways I’ve learned to navigate these emotions:

• Allow yourself to feel everything: Don’t shy away from the discomfort of navigating complex grief. Grief in complicated relationships is messy, and you don’t have to sort it all out immediately.
• Seek support: Therapy was a crucial part of my healing from grief and loss. A trusted counselor can help you process unresolved emotions from a complicated relationship.
• Let go of guilt: Your grief is valid, no matter what form it takes. You don’t owe anyone a “clean” version of mourning.
• Be alone for a while: Don’t rush into making any big decisions. Allow yourself time to reflect and heal.
• Journal your thoughts: Writing down your anger, pain, and confusion can be incredibly cathartic. Journaling about grief, unresolved conflict, and loss can help get those emotions out on paper so they don’t stay bottled up inside you.
• Turn pain into something beautiful: One simple way to process grief is by using your experience to help others. Sharing your story, like I’m doing today, can provide healing for both yourself and others.

Remember, this didn’t happen overnight. The journey toward healing from grief and loss takes time, but it’s through that journey that you eventually find the strength to help others.

Reflections

Through the pain, love, and everything in between, I’ve learned that even the most difficult relationships can leave behind gifts — ones that force us to evolve, confront our deepest fears, and ultimately become the people we were meant to be. In this way, I honor him and the journey we took together, however imperfect it was.

Invitation

If you’ve experienced grief after a complicated relationship, know that you’re not alone. I’d love to hear your stories — how you’ve navigated this journey of mixed emotions and what’s helped you find peace.