Every day in New Zealand, 20 couples will divorce, many of them quite amicably. Why do we still treat it as a kind of failure? By Angela Barnett
When one of my friends started dating after a marriage breakup in her early 30s, she said she felt like she was walking around with a giant D on her forehead. “D for Don’t Bother, I’m Divorced,” she used to joke. When I joined her in the divorce club, I understood what she meant. One potential paramour said to me, “So, you’re a quitter?” It was easier to recast my ex as an axe-wielding maniac, to soften the judgement.
That was twenty years ago, and I’ve been waiting for the stigma around divorce, or “failed marriages,” as they’re often called, to ease. So when the New York Times ran the headline recently, 'Why marriage, for so many, is less appealing than ever,' I thought, finally. If marriage is losing its appeal, surely we can stop judging so harshly when it ends.
But the reality is more nuanced than the headline suggests. Marriage has declined, yes, particularly in the US, where it hit a 140-year low pre-Covid, but globally the drop is modest. According to World in Data, marriage rates have only slipped from 69% in 1970 to 64% in 2024. What has shifted is how we structure our relationships. Cohabitation has increased, having children outside of marriage has tripled across OECD countries. Divorce rates, which surged in the 1970s and 1980s, have slowed in recent years, although New Zealand has seen a distinct rise in "grey divorce" among the over-50s. Now, internationally, one-third of all marriages include at least one spouse who has been married before – in New Zealand that's closer to a quarter.
However you look at it, divorce isn’t rare; it’s part of the landscape.
Marriage is no piece of cake
Back in the day many churches would offer six-week marriage courses to those planning to tie the knot. It seems almost radical now, the idea that you might train for long-term love but most of us are still not prepared for the task. What becomes clear, often too late, is that you’re learning about communication, conflict resolution, and endurance while you’re already on the job. Many first marriages are called “training marriages” for good reason.
After all the fuss of the nuptials, which last one day, the couple is left to improvise for the next 60-odd years. Married couples are no better equiped to handle that challenge than those couples who've stayed unmarried. But while we accept separations among the de facto as a part of life, when marriages falter, we call it failure.
Seven years into my second marriage, sensing I could do with some upskilling, I spoke to a few relationship therapists. One talked about how easily couples lose connection under the weight of busy lives, and how ill-equipped many are to rebuild a relationship once it gets shaky. Another said arranged marriages can work well, not because of tradition, but because they don’t start with the illusion of perfect romantic fulfillment; people approach each other with curiosity and build a friendship.
The best advice was this: shave a few thousand off the wedding budget and set it aside for counselling to learn how to communicate. It’s far more useful than matching bridesmaid dresses.
Looking at divorce differently
When I was facing the end of my first marriage, and it was time to tell our respective families, I was petrified. I felt like I’d broken something fundamental. They were only supportive, but the shame was heavy.
Divorce is painful. It’s messy, disorienting, expensive, and often deeply sad, but with time it’s also clarifying. I learned things about myself, how I communicate, what I avoid. I began to see through the idea of marriage as a sweeping romantic ideal, and recognise it for what it is: a partnership or alliance.
For it to work, you need shared values, clear boundaries, and joint commitment. You need to let it evolve as you both do. You have to accept that you won’t always be right (infuriating, but true), and that you’ll be confronted with your own less appealing traits. None of this is considered when you’re deciding whether Uncle Harry can sit next to Great Aunt Beatrice at the reception.
I don’t want to reduce divorce to a pithy life lesson, but I no longer view my first marriage as a defeat. Marrying at 28, I was less self-aware, quicker to judge, prone to jealousy — traits I’ve had to work hard not to carry forward. We both contributed to its unraveling, but I no longer see it through the lens of blame.
Nothing in life is permanent, and that goes for relationships too, but just because a marriage doesn’t last forever, that doesn’t make it meaningless. Like small businesses or alliances, they have a cycle, and some are shorter than others. If we stop framing divorce as a failure and the people going through it as quitters, we can begin to ease the shame and stigma that surrounds it.
We might even let go of the unhelpful blame games.
We need better language.
“Broken marriage,” “broken home,” “bust-up” all imply damage, fault, something shattered. Even “divorce” sounds like something was wrenched apart. Gwyneth Paltrow and Chris Martin’s much-mocked term “conscious uncoupling” might have been onto something. Move on from the eye-roll, and what’s left is a useful idea: that a relationship can end without shame, failure, and the need to assign blame.
Maybe “uncoupling” is enough or “untying”. Something meaningful existed, and then both parties went separate ways, and onto new experiences.
Because that D on your forehead could also be short for deliverance.
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