Separation or divorce? Here’s how Ley and Littleproud can keep it classy

Before I married my first husband, we broke up twice. Once at 18, a few months after meeting on the Surfers Paradise beach during HSC. I was bemused.

Second time, we were 23 and living in a St Kilda flat when he pulled the pin. I was strategic. Quit my job, moved to London, replied to his Air Mail letters when it suited. Came home six months later to a marriage proposal.

The final split at 46, I was inconsolable. But accepting. When our wise, supportive couples’ counsellor Sarah said after a lot of work, “this marriage is over”, I trusted her external confirmation of what was being thought inside the relationship.

There are always separations before a divorce, and there are rules to ensure unnecessary damage isn’t done.Credit:

So among the pieces of wisdom our kids have been subjected to – always say “very well, thank you” when asked how you are because nobody cares anyway, look under the rug at house inspections, beef mince is your friend – one is a mainstay: Most breakups take three cracks at it before you really break up (or stay together).

Research kind of backs up my theory, or at least that it ain’t over ’til it’s over. Globally, between 10 and 15 per cent of couples reconcile after separating, and about 6 per cent remarry after divorce. About 30 per cent of people regret their divorce.

Even just thinking about breaking up is rampant. A 2018 US study of 3000 married people found 53 per cent had “soft” thoughts about splitting – as in, “this marriage is not what I thought it would be” – at some point.

Sussan Ley and David Littleproud are trialling a divorce, but there are signs the Libs and Nats may get back together. Credit: Marija Ercegovac

Which is why I’m treating the Coalition bust-up as just a trial separation, especially given the Liberal-National partnership has broken down and been patched up several times since the 1940s, the last split in 1987.

This doesn’t feel like a full-blown divorce. Just a political version of sleeping in separate bedrooms and saying you’re reassessing priorities.

I’m not here to unpack the Nats’ emotional baggage or whether Peter Dutton left the toilet seat up one too many times. But as a woman who knows what “we need to talk” really means, I’m fine with saying this.

If you’re going to try a trial separation, do it right. You need a playbook. Because otherwise you’re not trialling anything. You’re dragging around unresolved mess.

Rule one: Don’t talk shit about each other in front of the kids. Whether your “kids” are actual children or millions of confused voters. It makes you look bitter, not brave. Keep it classy.

Rule two: Do not leverage your friendships for personal gain.

Rule three: You know what’s not hot? Someone not knowing a trial separation is not a holiday from their problems. Sort your stuff out. Know what it is about you that drives people nuts. Self-reflection is staggeringly important. Otherwise, you’ll come back to the table with the same issues.

Rule four: Saying “I’ve changed” means nothing if you don’t make actual changes. That applies whether you’re trying to win back your partner, or Queensland.

Rule five: Know what you need if you’re going to reunite. Magical thinking is not a plan.

Rule six: Don’t mope around waiting for a reconciliation. Play on. Stay interesting and interested. Yes, that can include painting your hallway, or dragon boat racing, a la Kate Middleton during her 2007 break from Prince William. Or, revisiting actual policies.

Finally, rule seven: Keep your options open. Just don’t tell your hairdresser or a morning TV host, especially if you want to end up back in the shared bed.

One night this week, I’m at Fitzroy’s Sol Gallery. Photojournalist Julian Kingma is launching a show of extraordinary images from The Power of Choice, a book capturing real-life faces of people choosing voluntary assisted dying.

I’m in line to buy a copy. The woman next to me says, “Kate?” It’s Sarah – the marriage psychotherapist from all those years ago.

Wow. Sarah knows more about me than my parents. I’m seeing her for the first time since 2013 – and the first time ever outside her rooms. That we’re in this setting, a night about deciding when to call time with dignity and care, feels surreal and right. We hug. I get wobbly. Tell Sarah how important her expertise was in our lives.

Then I drive home singing Sorrento Moon, toasting the power of separations that end well, whatever that looks like.

Kate Halfpenny is the founder of Bad Mother Media.

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