‘After my divorce, my friend group quietly erased me. When I vented to a colleague, she told me why.’

When my divorce finally came through, I assumed this was the start of the second part of my life. The post-divorce me was not anywhere near ready to date, but I was sure my new life would be invigoratingly full of fun and adventure.

I was ready to move forward. Ready to rediscover who I was outside of being a wife. I wanted to travel, to laugh, to have wine-soaked dinners with friends. I was ready for my fresh start.

What I wasn't ready for was the fact that my social life would dissolve as quickly as that marriage agreement.

At first, it was subtle. A photo would pop up on Instagram — a smiling group of familiar faces at a dinner I hadn't been invited to. They were eating Thai. My favourite. "Must've been a last-minute thing," I told myself, brushing it off. But then it happened again. And again.

By the time I realised I wasn't imagining it, I'd missed a whole weekend getaway to the Hunter Valley, a trip we'd been talking about for years. I only found out because someone accidentally tagged me in a post.

Bringing it up was one of the hardest, most humbling things I have ever done. I don't like confrontation, but I don't like the pain of being left out even more.

The response was a pretty unapologetic, "Oh, we didn't want you to feel awkward, you know, with all the couples."

Awkward? Why would I feel awkward with my friends? These were the people who I had grown up with, who had seen me ugly cry after too much wine and carried me through the darkest days of my marriage. Why would being single suddenly change all that?

Watch: How to support someone going through a separation or divorce. Post continues after video.

It did, though. And it didn't stop there. The little things — the random Sunday coffee dates, the casual mid-week walks — stopped too. I wasn't just being left out of the big events; I was being quietly erased from the day-to-day. It felt like they were all saying, without saying it, We don't know where you fit anymore.

Meanwhile, my ex-husband seemed to be thriving in his newfound singledom, or at least that's what his social media would have you believe. Every time I clocked his profile, there he was; at pub trivia nights, backyard barbecues, or grinning in group photos at the beach. It stung, seeing him surrounded by laughter and connection, especially when my own phone felt like it was gathering dust.

I found myself venting to a colleague. *Josie who'd been divorced for years, listened quietly as I rambled on about how my once-vibrant social life had dwindled into a handful of pity texts and awkward encounters.

When I paused to catch my breath, she leaned back in her chair, a knowing look on her face. "Yeah," she said. "That happens. It's almost always the women who pull away first."

I stared at her, completely floored. "What? Why?"

Sarah shrugged, "Because single women are seen as a threat. They'll never say it outright, but deep down, a lot of wives feel weird about having a single woman around their husband. It's not about their husbands being irresistible. It's about insecurity. They see you, newly single, and they start projecting their own fears. It's not fair, but it happens."

My friends wouldn't think that, surely. I mean, ewww. Their husbands? Hard pass.

Her words stuck with me, even though I wanted to reject them outright. My friends weren't like that. The idea that they might see me — me — as some sort of threat to their marriages was laughable. It wasn't like I was some femme fatale wreaking havoc on their marriages. God, no. The very thought made me want to gag. It must be something else.

I told myself that, whatever their reasons were, I didn't care. That I didn't need their pity invites or their uncomfortable glances when I showed up alone. But the truth? It hurt. It hurt to realise that these friendships, ones I thought were rock-solid, came with fine print I hadn't noticed before. Couples only.

To make things worse, when they did remember me, it wasn't to invite me out or check in. It was to vent about their own marriages. Apparently, my single status made me some kind of expert on relationships.

There was one moment, not long after the Hunter Valley trip, that really broke me. I'd run into an old friend at the supermarket — someone I hadn't seen since before the separation. Her face lit up when she saw me, and for a second, I thought, Yes, someone who actually cares. But then she grabbed my arm and whispered, "How are you? You must be so lonely."

Lonely.

Yes, I was lonely, but not for the reasons she thought. I wasn't mourning my marriage or pining for a plus-one. I was lonely because the people who were supposed to have my back had disappeared.

I'd love to say I was confident enough in myself that I didn't fall into a what did I do wrong? And what's wrong with me hole, but I did.

My self-confidence has been knocked, but I'm slowly building it back up.

Josie has introduced me to a few more singletons, and while making new friends as a fully-fledged adult has its challenges, at least I am doing some of the things that I had hoped for in my post-marriage life. Turns out it's easier to make plans with new friends without partners than it is to see my established friends who have husbands to consider!

I've learnt to enjoy my own company, too. It's been a work in progress, but I have my first solo travel adventure booked, and I'm really looking forward to seeing what new experiences that brings to my life.

It's not perfect. There are still moments when I see a photo pop up on social media and feel that pang of loss. But I tell myself that this isn't the end of the story. It's just a plot twist.

* Names have been changed to maintain privacy.

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