But now I see that I was trying to shape love out of chaos. Trying to wrap bows around dysfunction and call it “home.”
And I don’t judge that woman—I have so much compassion for her. She was doing what she thought was right.
She believed in the dream because she was taught that was the goal.

The White Picket Fence and the Truth Behind It

So I fought for the marriage.
I fought for the dream wedding (and yes, I planned it myself down to the last detail).
I fought for the white picket fence—literally. I kept the wooden fencing from my kids’ art and crafts workshop business, painted it white and used it to create a little enclosed area in-front of our first house. It was meant to keep the horses out of the pool on our mini smallholding, but deep down, I think it was also meant to make me feel like I had finally arrived.

But I hadn’t.
I was already unravelling.

I had everything I was told to want, on the surface, but I was crumbling inside.
I couldn’t breathe.
And I didn’t feel safe—not emotionally, not financially, not spiritually, not even physically at times being alone with my little ones in a rural community in the middle of nowhere.

Still, I stayed.
For twelve years before we even got married.
And a year and a half after we did, I wanted to file for divorce already.
But the fear of failure whispered louder than my inner voice.
Especially when I was asked to do it for our daughter.
And I went quiet… again.

The Peace That Followed Letting Go

I’ve stopped overcompensating.
Stopped burning myself out to make something broken appear functional.
Stopped cushioning holes that someone else refused to fill.
My nervous system is healing. My heart is softening.
I no longer feel unsafe in my own home, in my own body, in my own breath.
I no longer feel like I have to shrink, negotiate, or plead just to feel seen.

There’s a groundedness now.
A quiet knowing.
I am happy again.

Happy like I was in 2017, when I first separated—before I got roped back into the cycle, before I traded my truth for the illusion again. That’s around the time when I was first prompted to homeschool, after my daughter was bullied. And even that moment, which felt like disruption, was actually divine.
It cracked me open.

That was the beginning of the end.
And the beginning of the beginning.

The Questions That Changed Everything

Now, I sit with deeper questions:

• Why did I believe that being alone was failure?
• Why did I make myself so small to make someone else comfortable?
• Why did I ignore the part of me that knew? That always knew?

People still ask me:
“Don’t you want to find someone else?”
“Aren’t you lonely?”

But what they don’t understand is that being alone has brought me back to life.
Aloneness and loneliness are not the same.

This season has been one of solitude and sacred reclamation.
And I do not desire to fill the space just for the sake of it.
I’m not interested in “projects” or emotional fixer-uppers. I’ve learnt those lessons. And I’ve earned my rest.

Being alone for the past almost 3 years, gave me the freedom society never wanted me to taste.
And it is SO SO sweet.

I don’t owe anyone an explanation.
Because “people” don’t pay my bills at the end of every month, they don’t tuck me in at night, and they don’t get to have opinions about how I raise my girls or how I love myself back to wholeness.

This is my one wild, beautiful life.
And I intend to live it aligned with God’s will—not society’s template.
I’m not chasing timelines or boxes anymore.
I’m chasing peace.
Joy.
Presence.
Adventure.
And purpose.

The Legacy I’m Leaving for My Daughters

One day, my girls will see what it looks like to live from fullness.
To choose connection, not co-dependence.
To walk away when something doesn’t feel right.
To be the love they’re seeking—and to give it freely, but not cheaply.

And if someone beautiful crosses our path and chooses to walk alongside us, they’ll be met with wholeness—not neediness.
Love won’t be sourced from him.
Because we’ve already learned how to generate it within ourselves.

I’ve Graduated from That Chapter

Healing isn’t linear.
I still get triggered.
Sometimes I’ll hop between timelines as I tell this story.
But I can say this with certainty: this 20-year chapter is mostly resolved for me.
That version of me has graduated.
And I love her for surviving what she did.
For holding on so tightly even when it was costing her everything.
For choosing to believe in love, even if it was misplaced.
For getting back up—again and again.

No More Shame

I played a role too.
I enabled a lot.
I overextended myself.
I silenced my truth more times than I can count.
I swept things under the rug because facing them felt too big.
I tolerated more than I should have—and I know that now.
But I no longer carry shame for that.
That version of me was just trying to survive. Trying to protect what she thought she needed.

It is what it is.
I hold no hatred. I wish him well.
No matter what he does or doesn’t do now—he doesn’t have any more lessons for me.
I’ve graduated from that classroom.

Repeat After Me:

💛 I am not missing anything.
💛 I am the love I seek.
💛 I am the safety I crave.
💛 I am whole.

Until next time…