Each night, it takes me a good long time to fall asleep. So when I lay down, rather than stewing about why I can’t snooze off, I let my mind wander. I usually try to direct my thoughts into pondering happy scenarios like what my dream future house would look like or what it might feel like to be completely healed from the effects of my narcissistic ex. Recently, as I was drifting off, an unbidden thought floated out of my subconscious: I should have never divorced Cory.

This unprecedented idea jolted me awake. As part of my healing, I try not to judge myself when unusual thoughts jump into my head. Instead, I simply try to pause and be curious. But this one really came out of left field. I know that I made the right decision to end my marriage and it’s been a long, long time since I had any compunction that my divorce was anything other than a divine blessing.

After some consideration (and not much sleep), I realized that I was experiencing my own version of survivor’s guilt. My daughters are really struggling at this time. There are many reasons, but one of the key sources of grief is the cognitive dissonance they experience as they come to grips with their addict dad. Cory presents himself as the nicest, most low-key guy in the world. This version of their dad is the man they have known their whole life. But the true Cory is a narcissist. And like all people in the Cluster B spectrum, he is spiteful and aggressive. When you back him into the corner, he comes out swinging. My daughters have now had ample occasion to see that narcissist—the true man their dad is. One of my daughters described his behavior perfectly: vicious.

The real Cory, with his facade laying shattered on the ground, is unbelievable when first encountered. Particularly when his monster-like behavior comes at a juncture where he is vying to reestablish his membership in the church. He texts and talks about the atonement and Christ’s healing power, all while behaving in an emotionally abusive manner. There is no humility, there is no grief, there is no sorrow. It’s just a DARVO message of how he is tired of being judged and that he is a changed man…and the kids better get on board.

I am used to this and I’m not sure whether saying it doesn’t bother me much anymore is a triumph or a tragedy. But for my kids, this confusing behavior is relatively new.

Before everything about Cory came out, my kids had a great life. They enjoyed two parents who seldom fought and seemed happy, at least on the surface. They had the security of a decades-long marriage and the stability of a traditional family life. But now they have the reality of a single mom who struggles on a daily basis and a dad who is essentially out of their lives.

Enter in my survivor’s guilt.

I couldn’t sleep because I kept thinking that if I had just stayed married, this wouldn’t have to be my children’s experience. I had not been happy for a long time anyway, so why couldn’t have I made the long-term sacrifice—their happiness for mine? It’s not as if I am shouting my joy from the rooftops now. My life is a significant daily challenge. Why not just stay the course and let them at least enjoy personal peace?

Because I deserve happiness. Because my children’s struggles, while awful to behold, will make them stronger, more compassionate individuals. Because we all have a right to live in a home with unfiltered access to the spirit. Because our loving Heavenly Father would never say it was my fate to exist in a marriage with a man who mocks everything sacred.

It was interesting that a year and a half post-divorce this was the first time I’ve ever had a dialogue like this in my own mind. It is always going to be awful to watch my kids in pain. I would give anything to take that away. But I know that once we all come out on the other side of this awful grief, there will be beautiful takeaways we will be able to share with the world. I may not be able to automatically turn off the survivor’s guilt, but I can look for the lovely miracles that will happen as we fully accept our reality and process our pain.