When Avoidance Becomes Absence: The Hidden Cost of Staying Away

Part 4 of 9-part series entitled, “From Autopilot to Aliveness: A Man’s Journey After Divorce,” offering practical wisdom and soul-deep encouragement for men navigating the emotional upheaval of early divorce.

Ever found yourself switching gas stations, dodging the grocery store near your old house, or avoiding that corner café—just so you wouldn’t run into someone from “before”?

That was me, in the early stage of my divorce. At the time, those shifts felt protective. Safe. Necessary.

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What Looked Like Self-Care Was Actually Avoidance

I stopped going to places that felt too familiar. Places where I might run into people who knew my story—or didn’t—and would ask:

“How’s the family?”

“How’s the wife?”

In those first months, I didn’t want to lie. I didn’t want to explain. I didn’t want to be seen. Yes, I knew my divorce was a matter of public record, but I didn't want to be living on standby, waiting to the nudge to be a public announcer of my personal failure.

So I stayed away.

And some questions pierced more deeply than others.

When folks inquired about my relationship, shared their shock and sadness, and then asked, “So, how did your church respond, since you were their senior pastor?”—that question hit my soul the hardest.

It pointed beyond the guilt I already carried and touched a deeper layer: shame—the kind of shame that settles in when you feel you’ve broken an unspoken covenant.

That question wasn’t just about my marriage. It was about a sacred trust I believed I had failed. As a senior pastor, I had upheld the value of marriage, taught its sanctity, and shepherded couples through their own storms. I had always tried to embody the scriptural intention that “two shall become one.”

So when my own marriage ended, it felt like I had violated something more than vows. I had violated a shared hope—a spiritual agreement between me and the congregation I once served.

Psychologist Judith Wallerstein captured this perfectly:

“The early stage of divorce is often marked by shock, shame, and a deep desire for privacy. Many adults find it nearly impossible to talk about their separation—especially with acquaintances or coworkers—because doing so feels like reliving the trauma again and again.”

— Judith S. Wallerstein, The Unexpected Legacy of Divorce

Though I sort of numbed to the sting of re-announcing that my marriage failed, even casual questions felt like emotional landmines.

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The Unintended Consequence

Then came a text:

“Sorry you missed your niece’s birthday party. Call when you can.”

No anger. Just a nudge. A gentle hurt wrapped in kindness.

A few days later, I finally showed up at a friend’s gathering and was greeted with a loud, loving: “Everybody, look what the cat dragged in!”

There was a hug. Smiles. Familiar faces. But beneath the warm welcome was another message: We’ve noticed your absence. We’ve missed you.

And here’s what hit even harder: before that moment, I had already noticed the invitations slowing down—the texts to hang out, the “swing by” calls. They just weren’t coming as often.

My silence was being met with silence. My absence was interpreted as disinterest. People were quietly backing away, giving me space I hadn’t asked for.

Then came the gut punch. A close friend confided:

“I didn’t invite you to the last get-together. Figured you needed space. Didn’t want to burden you while you were going through everything. I figured you were doing your own thing.”

"Doing my own thing." That stung—because it wasn’t true. I wasn’t doing anything bold or intentional. I was just drifting. Disappearing in plain sight.

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Insight: Silence Is Easy to Misinterpret

What I thought was shielding others from my grief looked like disinterest. What I meant as self-protection came across as distance.

What I most needed—gentle reminders that I still belonged—was being withheld by people who cared, trying to respect what they thought I wanted.

Therapist and author Susan Pease Gadoua explains:

“In the early stages, people often find it too painful to keep explaining or justifying their situation. They may isolate, not because they don’t care, but because talking about the divorce feels like opening a fresh wound.”

— Susan Pease Gadoua, LCSW, Contemplating Divorce

This wasn’t about detachment. It was about emotional survival and about the unintended consequence was disconnection from people who mattered most.

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The Realization

That week, I made some calls, apologized for my absence, and sked how people were doing. Listened.

It didn’t undo the distance—but it reopened the door. It reminded me that even in early grief, disconnection isn’t inevitable. And reconnection is always possible.

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Reflection Prompts

If you’re in a season of withdrawing—or realizing you’ve drifted from your circle—pause and consider:

• What places or people have I quietly been avoiding, and why?

• Have I unintentionally made anyone feel like they don’t matter to me?

• Who might be waiting for me to show up, call back, or simply say, “I’m still here”?

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You’re Not Alone

Avoidance feels like control—but left unchecked, it becomes absence.

And when you go quiet, people often assume the worst—or assume they no longer matter.

But the truth is, many of them were confused and conflicted, torn between the desire to respect your need for emotional space and their need to communicate they love you no matter what, still hoping you’ll reach out.

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Ready to Reconnect?

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