I had experienced this pain previously. In this story I will tell you most horrible part of life where I stop hoping . The heavy burden in my chest, the persistent lump in my throat, the tingling numbness coursing through my body it all felt so recognizable This time, it came with words I’ll never forget: “I haven’t wanted to be with you for a long timeI’m sorry, but it seems the text you want me to paraphrase is missing I felt like the life drained out of me. I collapsed on the floor, empty, unable to breathe, unable to feel anything at all.
That was when I realized I had completely lost myself in him. My entire identity had been tied to being his wife and our children’s mother. I had built a perfect image: a spotless home, beautiful children, dream jobs in a new city, attendance at church each week, meals organized exactly On the outside, I was the definition of a “good wife.” Inside, I was disappearing.
Looking back, the warning signs were everywhere. Deep down, I knew something wasn’t right. My late-night Google searches shifted from recipes to questions about betrayal. I learn from church and family for guidance. The message was always the same pray harder, fight for it, stay together. Struggling to hold thing together, we moved away from my family in Virginia to start over in Nashville. I thought a fresh start would save us, but the patterns followed us there.
The truth showed up one night in a text message I wasn’t supposed to see. He promised it was nothing, that he chose me and our daughters. I wanted so badly to believe him, but in reality, I was snug to a version of our marriage that no longer existed. When he finally ended things, I realized how much of my self-worth I was struck on proving that I was enough. I kept thinking I have to earn love by being enough.
But fairy tales had lied to me. Marriage hadn’t healed the wounds from my painful childhood, and doing everything “right” hadn’t saved us. Instead, two broken people had ended up hurting not only themselves but their children too. And when the marriage ended, I spun into chaos. I lacking feeling myself with alcohol, punished my body, and lived recklessly. It wasn’t that I wanted to die I just wanted the pain to stop.
All the while, I was raising two little girls who needed me. At 25, divorced and exhausted, I didn’t know how to be the mother they deserved. I worked early mornings, came home late, and drowned my grief at night. I felt like I was sinking, unable to find steady ground. But even in that darkness, there was the faintest glimmer of hope. It was small at first, but it was there.
That little light helped me start facing my pain. Instead of entombing it, I began listening to it grief, anger, loss, all had something to teach me. Slowly, the tidal wave became ripples. I started to relive who I was beneath the roles I had hidden behind. The more I allowed myself to heal, the less appealing it became to escape.
For the first time, I felt safe being fully present with my daughters. I quit drinking. I began breaking free from the cycles of abuse and codependency that had shaped me. Healing didn’t come in big dramatic breakthroughs it came in small, sacred moments. Movie nights on the couch. Breakfast conversations before school. Dancing in the living room to the same songs on repeat. Quiet talks before bed. Those little fragments of joy became the building blocks of our new life together.
We found our own definition of family and embraced what’s real. I still stumble, I still raise my voice, I still cry when it all feels too heavy. But I’m whole now. I can love my girls deeply without fear of losing myself in the process. I can hold space for their feelings because I’ve learned how to hold space for my own.
The real beauty was never in seeming perfect. By embracing vulnerability and life. The loss I feared became my strength me into the woman I was always meant to be. My daughters don’t need a flawless mother. They need one who shows them how to be true to themselves, how to hold their dirtness, and how to rise after falling.
It only takes the smallest spark of hope to begin again.
