When the Silence Feels Strange: Finding Peace in the Quiet After Separation

Yesterday was the first day since he moved out that I didn’t hear from him.

No text. No call. No unexpected knock at the door.

Nothing.

And while part of me felt relief—real, tangible relief—another part of me felt… strange.

I’m not sure if it’s the anticipation of when he’ll call again, or text, or show up and knock on the door—or if it’s just the quiet itself.

Almost hollow. Like something is missing.

It’s probably the emptiness left behind by anxiety.

Don’t get me wrong—it wasn’t horrible all the time. Heck, there were even seasons, sometimes months, when arguments were minimal or nonexistent. But the fact remained: I never knew when his mood would shift. There was no wind-up, no warning. It just arrived—big and sudden.

And that kind of uncertainty, even when buried, keeps you on edge.

 

 

Was It Really That Bad?

No relationship is dysfunctional all the time. It’s a mixture—good moments, laughter, shared goals, building a life together. That’s what made it hard to walk away.

Then there’s my Christian faith—a faith that taught me divorce is only valid under certain circumstances, like repeated infidelity. My first marriage ended that way, when trust could no longer be rebuilt.

But with him, I didn’t worry about cheating.

There was no drunkenness, drug use, porn, or physical threats.

And yet—the emotional abuse, the gaslighting, the yelling, the controlling dynamics—

they slowly took their toll.

Especially on an already overwhelmed, trauma-ridden nervous system.

 

 

The Hidden Cost of Emotional Abuse

I want a real Christian marriage. One where the husband is a servant leader—like Christ.

Not a dictator. Not a micromanager.

Funny enough, men tend to be macro-managers. Women, the micro ones.

So the constant control and criticism? It made me want to shout,

“Stay in your own lane, buddy!”

I don’t want him back—not unless there’s true, long-lasting humility and heart change.

And I know that.

I’m glad the dysfunction is gone.

I’m no longer bracing for the next wave of tension or walking on eggshells to avoid an outburst.

There’s peace here now.

So Why Does It Feel So Strange?

 

And yet—there’s also silence.

And the silence is… loud.

If you’ve ever stepped away from an emotionally unhealthy relationship, you might know this feeling.

That strange dissonance between freedom and emptiness.

You finally have the space you’ve been praying for—

and yet your heart doesn’t quite know what to do with it.

The truth is, even peace can feel unfamiliar when you’ve lived in a storm for so long.

Relief and grief can coexist.

Peace and loneliness can, too.

You are not crazy.

You are not weak.

You’re healing.

 

 

 

Let the Silence Become Sacred

 

The ache isn’t about missing dysfunction.

It’s about your nervous system adjusting to life without it.

It’s about the quiet becoming unfamiliar terrain when the chaos has been constant.

But this silence?

This strange, echoing quiet?

It’s not emptiness—it’s space.

Sacred space.

Space for God to meet you.

To restore what was torn down.

To show you who you are—when you’re no longer being diminished.

So if today feels a little strange, let it.

Let the silence do its work.

Let it become a sanctuary, not a void.

God is here.

And He’s not filling the space with noise—

but with Himself.

 

 

 

 

Breath Prayer for the Quiet

Inhale: You are my refuge.

Exhale: I rest in Your peace.

 

Scripture to Anchor You

“The Lord will fight for you; you need only to be still.”

— Exodus 14:14

 

You’re Not Alone

If this post speaks to you, you’re not alone.

This community exists to hold space for women like you—women who love Jesus, crave peace, and are learning to heal after emotional harm.