ROSIE GREEN: When my husband of 16 years walked out, I wallowed on the sofa for a month. Then I found the perfect way to escape my misery… and I feel sexier than ever
The day my husband walked down the garden path and out of our marriage was the worst of my life.He left no forwarding address and seemed pretty upbeat about his decision.I, meanwhile, was a mess.With my mind frantically scrambling to process his departure, I spent weeks barely eating until my body was skeletal. I remember looking down at my legs one day and noticing how my ancient leggings now flapped around painfully thin thighs.In the aftermath of his exit, help came in many forms. Family visits, calls from friends, emergency counselling sessions, and a prescription for anti-depressants. Through it all I festered on the sofa in the uniform of misery – saggy, baggy, old athleisure.But after a month of wallowing in these shapeless garments something in me clicked back into place. What was I doing? If I was ever going to feel better on the inside, I needed to look better on the outside.I binned the tatty leggings and started hunting through my wardrobe for clothes that would boost rather than depress me. I once interviewed a psychologist who told me even if you fake a smile, it tricks your brain into feeling happier. I knew the same feedback loop would apply to wearing a decent outfit – and I was right. Looking attractive and groomed wasn’t just a prerequisite for getting out and into the world again – it was an act of self-preservation.That episode in my life came vividly back to me when I read about the new fashion collaboration between US divorce lawyer Laura Wasser and the label Reformation, beloved of Meghan Markle, Taylor Swift and model Emily Ratajkowski. Beautiful, clever, possessed of a famous ‘killer instinct’, Wasser has represented some of the most famous women on the planet: Kim Kardashian, Britney Spears, Angelina Jolie to name but a few. Top divorce US lawyer Laura Wasser has released a new collaboration with the label ReformationIf anyone knows how to ‘step into a sexier chapter on your own terms’, as Reformation’s new Divorce Collection promises, it’s her. I jumped online to check out the new range – and immediately thought of several girlfriends to whom I could gift the £128 sweatshirt emblazoned with the slogan ‘Dump Him’.Yes, the sweatshirt costs £128. None of this retail therapy comes cheap – tops start at £98, shirts cost £150, skirts £250 and a trench coat the best part of £400.A nd yet divorce is precisely the time for investing in yourself, even if money is tight. Throughout our marriages, so many of us first wives didn’t. We suppressed our own needs and wants for the sake of our families, only to have it blow up in our faces.When our children were little, we stopped clothes shopping, put off getting our roots done and sidelined gym membership because swimming, ballet and extra maths classes came first. We assumed our husbands saw us in those decade-old tracksuit bottoms and felt a swell of love at our sacrifice.Then what happens? They leave us for someone who has zero problem relieving Zara of half its stock and dropping a third of their salary on spin classes.I was 45 when my husband checked out of our marriage. We had two young teenage children, and I thought our life was idyllic. After being ‘happily’ married for 16 years (and together for 26), I didn’t imagine for a minute – at least not at first – that his strange new behaviour signalled an affair.Why was he coming home late and leaving early? What was this new ‘work’ phone he took with him wherever he went? It made me feel uneasy, but I also knew he was a loyal, dependable man. Close friends said he was the least likely person to be unfaithful out of all our husbands.And then one day, over a family breakfast, his ‘work’ phone bleeped with a message. I asked to see it. His phone was locked but after some persuasion he told me the password.I guess after all the secrecy and lying, there was something in him that wanted me to know. Clicking on the WhatsApp on the home screen, I discovered a chat with only one other person in it.Those messages ended my life as I knew it. I was sucker-punched by the deceit, blindsided by the betrayal. From there began the long road to divorce.At first, My reaction was one of classic denial. I was desperate for him to stay, to hold onto the life we’d worked so hard to create. I couldn’t fathom that he could blow it all up so lightly.For his part, he vacillated between wanting to leave, then wavering and talking of a future together. But ultimately he was pulled away by the temptation of something, or someone, different.I was heartbroken and scared.I knew that I needed to pick up the career I’d let slip and earn money. In my 20s and early 30s, I’d been a successful fashion and beauty journalist, working on glossy magazines such as Vogue, Elle and Red.Before children, I spent my days criss-crossing the globe styling celebrities including actresses Sarah Jessica Parker, Liz Hurley and Cameron Diaz. My life looked very different now. I was at home in the countryside.My main ‘trips’ involved the school run and the supermarket shop, my glamorous old life just an anecdote I told my mum friends on nights out at the pub.My life was the cliche so many of my generation experienced: a soaring career cut short by the same old domestic responsibilities our mothers had faced.After so long away from the office, my confidence was seriously eroded. But I plucked up the courage to contact my old editor at Red and told her what had happened. I sent her my story and she ran it. Then other commissions came flooding in.Turns out writing about an earth shattering break up resonated with tens of thousands of others who had ‘runaway husbands’.These were my people – women who thought they’d been in happy marriages, but were now faced with a cold, angry stranger irritated by their very presence.I gathered an Instagram following. It was cathartic for me to get my thoughts and feelings down, to empower and support other women in similar situations. We created a community together and it made us feel less alone. It felt reassuring to know this was a pattern of behaviour we had identified, and wasn’t about us being terrible, uncaring wives.And then came the fun part. The clothes.When I got on the scales, I realised I’d dropped two stone as a result of the split – I couldn’t even sit in the bath because the bones in my back were protruding too much. This meant my wardrobe definitely needed a revamp. But even if I hadn’t lost any weight at all, I’d have torn through it, chucking all those out-of-date shapes, frayed hems and faded colours. If my life was changing, so was my image.Clothes have always been a big part of my life. I first fell in love with fashion as a teenager, devouring Vogue and recreating runway looks with second hand finds and haberdashery buys. Like many women I know, clothes make me feel vital, energised: the twinkle of a sequin, the shine of patent leather, the softness of a gauzy tee-shirt.Now I desperately wanted three things I’d lacked throughout all those married mum years. I wanted to look pulled together. I wanted to be a serious professional. And I wanted to feel sexy. My outfits had to project power and confidence – anything other than the sad, rejected woman I still sometimes felt.I knew what I wore was going to be key to my career success and getting my life back on track. To making people feel impressed by my resilience rather than sorry for me. My metamorphosis happened with the help of stylish friends and my own commitment to the cause, investing time and money – yes, in the end, many hundreds of pounds – in the project.Now I am seven years into my second act and I have learnt one vital lesson: namely it’s crucial to focus on your own healing and recovery rather than your ex’s transgressions.That means not focussing on so-called revenge dressing but only ever thinking about what makes you happy and what you want your future to look like. As I scan the Reformation collection, the designers are definitely onto something. I had reservations the clothes would be a bit young for my 51-year-old self and might raise the eyebrows of my discerning teenage daughter.I worried the fabrics wouldn’t be of good enough quality, the hemlines too high and the tops too plunging, but trying them on I was pleasantly surprised.So for anyone who wants to feel hot after a breakup here’s my pick of Reformation pieces every divorcee needs...
