Love After Divorce: What Elon Musk Learned From Three Breakups

Before we dive in, let me ask you: Where are you listening from? Drop your country in the comments. Maybe you’re going through a breakup right now. Maybe your relationship feels like it’s falling apart, or you’re single and wondering if you’ll ever figure out this whole love thing. Maybe, like me, you’ve been divorced—and people look at you like you failed at something fundamental.

This story is for you.

Here’s something most successful people never admit: I’ve been divorced three times. Three times, all in the public eye, where every struggle becomes a headline and every heartbreak is entertainment for strangers. But each divorce taught me something about love that I couldn’t have learned any other way. Each ending became a new beginning. Each failure became the foundation for understanding what real love actually looks like.

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My first marriage was built on fantasy.
Justine and I met in college. She was brilliant, confident, a writer. I was awkward, trying to fit in. I fell in love with her mind—but really, I fell in love with a projection. That’s what nobody tells you about young love: you fall for who you want someone to be, not who they truly are.

We were together for eight years before marrying. I thought that was enough time to know each other, to be compatible. But compatibility isn’t about how well you get along when life is easy—it’s about how you handle stress, grief, and growth together. We never tested that until it was too late.

When our son Nevada died at just 10 weeks old, our differences became clear. Justine needed to talk and connect to heal. I needed to build, to act, to move forward. Neither approach was wrong, but they were incompatible. We had five more children, but the disconnect remained. We loved each other, but couldn’t grieve together or support each other’s ways of processing trauma. The divorce was devastating, but honest. Love isn’t always enough. Compatibility, shared values, and similar approaches to life’s challenges matter.

My second marriage was a rebound.
Six weeks after my first divorce, I met Talulah. She was everything Justine wasn’t—playful, artistic, whimsical. I thought I was choosing differently, but really, I was just reacting to pain. That’s the rebound trap: you choose your next partner based on what your last relationship lacked, not on what you truly need.

We married, divorced, remarried, and divorced again. The same problems returned, only worse. I learned: Don’t choose someone just because they’re different from your ex. Choose them because they’re right for your real life—not the life you wish you had. And never try to fix a broken relationship by recreating it.

My third relationship was the success trap.
By 2018, I thought I’d figured it all out. Tesla was thriving, SpaceX was launching rockets. I believed success would make love easier. Then I met Claire (Grimes)—an artist, a creative genius, someone who understood public pressure and ambition.

On paper, we were perfect: two successful people supporting each other’s dreams. But success doesn’t eliminate relationship challenges—it just changes them. When both people are high achievers, used to being in control, how do you compromise? How do you find intimacy when the world is watching and your time is never your own?

When our son was born, things became even more complex. We separated, not out of anger, but with maturity and honesty about what we needed and what we couldn’t give each other.

Here are the lessons three divorces taught me:

Love and compatibility are different.
You can love someone deeply and still not be able to build a life with them. Shared values, compatible life rhythms, and aligned visions matter.
Timing is everything.
The right person at the wrong time is still the wrong person. Relationships require emotional availability and bandwidth.
You can’t love someone into being different.
If you’re always trying to change your partner, you’re not in a relationship—you’re in a renovation project. People aren’t houses.
Divorce can be an act of love.
Sometimes, the most loving thing you can do is set each other free to find someone more compatible.
Multiple relationship endings don’t make you a failure.
They can mean you’re brave enough to recognize what isn’t working and strong enough to start over.

Looking back, I saw patterns:
I chose based on attraction, not compatibility. I underestimated the importance of shared life philosophy. I tried to fit love around my work, instead of integrating it. I confused intensity with sustainability.

Now, at 52, I know:
Real love is quiet. It’s two complete people who choose each other every day. It’s about trade-offs and conscious choices. And it’s rare—but that’s okay.

If you’re in a relationship, ask yourself:
Do we handle stress the same way? Do we want the same things from life? Do we have shared values? Are our visions for the future compatible? Are we both ready, right now, to prioritize partnership?

Some people aren’t meant for traditional relationships—and that’s not failure. Maybe you’re meant to love humanity more than individuals, or to change the world rather than build a perfect marriage. The goal isn’t to find someone who completes you, but to become complete enough to love without needing, give without depleting, and choose wisely.

So, if you’re divorced, remember:
Divorce can be courage and clarity. If you’re single, use this time to become the kind of person who attracts the love you truly want. If you’re looking for love, seek compatibility as much as chemistry.

In the end, love isn’t about finding the perfect person. It’s about becoming the kind of person who can love well, set boundaries, and be brave enough to leave when staying would hurt everyone involved.

My divorces weren’t failures—they were education. Expensive, painful, public education. And now, I know that being alone is better than being wrong together. Love is a choice, every single day. Whether I find that rare, real love again remains to be seen—but I’m no longer willing to settle for anything less. And neither should you.

Sometimes, the most loving thing you can do is let go. And sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is try again.