09/01/2026
I don’t talk about the last couple of years very often.
Mostly because there are some things you can explain with words, and there are some things you can only understand if you’ve lived them.
The last couple of years weren’t simply a difficult season of my life.
They broke my heart in ways I didn’t know a heart could break.
I lost my marriage.
And I don’t think people always understand what that actually means.
You don’t just lose a husband or a wife.
You lose the person you thought you’d grow old with.
You lose the plans you made.
The traditions you thought your family would have.
The home you thought would always feel like home.
You lose the version of the future you had already pictured in your mind.
You grieve birthdays that haven’t happened yet.
Christmases that will look different.
Milestones that you thought you’d experience together.
You grieve the family you thought your children would grow up inside of.
And you grieve the person you were when you still believed that your forever was actually forever.
And somewhere in the middle of all of that, I experienced another loss that I don’t think I’ll ever be able to put into words.
I lost a pregnancy.
A little life that had already become part of my heart.
A future I had already started imagining.
A baby I loved before I ever got the chance to hold them.
There is something uniquely painful about grieving someone you never got to meet.
There are no memories to hold onto.
No photographs.
No first steps.
No birthday to celebrate.
Just a love that existed completely and then suddenly had nowhere to go.
And while I was trying to process that loss, I was also watching my marriage unravel.
Two enormous losses happening in a life that was still expected to continue moving forward.
And somehow, I still had to wake up every morning.
I still had to be a mom.
I still had responsibilities.
I still had to work.
I still had to answer people when they asked how I was doing.
And sometimes the only answer I could give was, “I’m okay,” because explaining that I wasn’t okay felt impossible.
There were days I felt like I was walking around with an enormous amount of grief inside me while the rest of the world just kept moving.
And maybe that’s the part people don’t see.
They see you eventually start smiling again.
They see you laughing.
They see you working.
They see you rebuilding.
And they assume you’re fine.
They don’t see the nights you cried yourself to sleep.
They don’t see the moments when something completely ordinary suddenly reminds you of everything you lost.
They don’t see how long it takes to stop mourning the life you thought you were going to have.
They don’t see how much courage it takes to start imagining a different future.
And during all of this, I learned some really difficult things about people.
Some of the people I thought would be beside me weren’t.
Some people I had shown up for without hesitation couldn’t show up for me.
Some people watched me go through one of the hardest periods of my life and simply… disappeared.
And yes, that hurt.
It still does sometimes.
Because when you’re already grieving the people and future you lost, realizing that other people are choosing not to stand beside you can feel like another little piece of your heart being taken away.
But I also found people I never expected.
People who checked on me.
People who listened.
People who didn’t need an explanation before offering kindness.
People who celebrated the smallest signs that I was finding myself again.
People who didn’t know the whole story but didn’t need to.
And those people taught me something.
They taught me that sometimes kindness doesn’t require understanding everything someone has been through.
And I’ve tried to carry that lesson with me.
Because I don’t know anyone else’s entire story either.
I don’t know what someone is grieving.
I don’t know what happens behind their closed doors.
I don’t know what they are carrying when they smile at me.
So I don’t want to judge people based on the small piece of their life that I happen to see.
I just wish more people had offered me that same grace when I was struggling.
But maybe that’s part of my growth too.
I don’t want to become bitter because people didn’t understand me.
I want to become softer because I understand now how desperately people sometimes need grace.
As for the people who weren’t there for me…
I won’t lie and say I didn’t notice.
I did.
I remember.
But I’m learning that I don’t have to be angry about it forever.
Sometimes people reveal themselves during your hardest season, and while it may hurt to see, there is also something freeing about finally knowing where you stand.
So I’m choosing to be grateful.
Grateful for the people who stayed.
Grateful for the people who showed up.
Grateful for the people who loved me when I wasn’t particularly easy to love.
Grateful for the people who celebrated me when I finally started finding pieces of myself again.
And even grateful, in a strange way, for the people who walked away.
Because they taught me that I am capable of surviving without everyone I once thought I needed.
I am still grieving parts of the life I lost.
I probably always will.
There are some losses you don’t “get over.”
You simply learn how to carry them differently.
But I’m rebuilding.
Not the marriage.
Not the life I thought I was going to have.
I’m rebuilding me.
The woman underneath the heartbreak.
The woman who still has dreams.
The woman who can still love deeply.
The woman who can still laugh after crying.
The woman who can still believe that something beautiful can come after something devastating.
And maybe that’s where I am now.
Not completely healed.
Not pretending everything didn’t happen.
Just finally understanding that my life didn’t end when the life I imagined did.
There is still so much ahead of me.
And for the first time in a very long time, I’m excited to see what it looks like.
So if you’ve supported me during this chapter, even in the smallest way, please know this:
I saw it.
I felt it.
And I will never forget it.
And if you didn’t…
Well, I saw that too. 😉
But I’m not carrying that with me anymore.
I’ve carried enough.
I’m choosing to carry the lessons, the love, the memories, my children, my faith, and the people who genuinely showed me that I wasn’t alone.
The rest can stay in the chapter where it happened.
I’m turning the page.
And this time, I’m writing a future I don’t have to mourn before I even get to live it. ❤️
