Why selling my home feels exactly like living in my home

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I lived together with my ex-wife in a beautiful 2800-square foot apartment overlooking the Hudson River in New York City.  It was my home and the center of my life for 30 years.

 

I'm now divorced and selling the apartment so that I can distribute our assets as required by a settlement agreement we're slowly working on.

 

Because my ex doesn't communicate with me, selling the apartment is more difficult for me than it would be otherwise.  I'm a pleaser, so despite my disrespect for my ex, I feel legally and morally obligated to try to dispose of our joint assets in a way that meets her needs.  It's normal for divorcing partners to not communicate well—we're average—but I note added stress now because I'm trying to guess what my ex wants while I administer this major financial transaction without feedback.

 

That's not the problem.

 

Here's why I'm angry:  selling our largest joint asset by myself is no different from living in our beautiful apartment together.  I was in the dark when we lived together.  Now I'm in the dark while we're splitting our assets.

 

The divorce process is confirming that my ex was absent before we met, during our entire marriage, and for this final period since she left me to continue her open marriage.  Left with no clarity from her, I assume I'm disappointing her no more—or less—now.  My pain, loneliness, and anger are no different than they have been since the day we first met in February 1994.

 

I don't understand what my voiceless ex wants now, and I never understood what she wanted when we lived together.

 

I'm selling my home in the same condition I bought it—and lived in it: by myself.

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