I used to wake up every morning and the first thing I’d think about was him. What he needed, what he wanted, what would make his day easier. For years, my life was completely wrapped around someone else’s comfort. I thought that was what love was supposed to be—giving, giving, giving. And then giving some more. I didn’t even notice how little of myself was left. After the divorce, I didn’t recognize who I was anymore. Not because I’d changed overnight, but because I’d been gone for so long I forgot what it felt like to actually be me. It took everything falling apart for me to realize I hadn’t loved myself in a long time. Maybe never. I was so busy being everything for someone else, I forgot how to be anything for myself.

The divorce wasn’t just an end to a marriage, it was like tearing off a layer of skin. Everything was raw. And lonely. I thought I’d feel free, but at first, all I felt was empty. And embarassed. Like I’d failed somehow, like I’d wasted all those years. Friends told me, “Now you can start over,” but I didn’t know where to begin. I didn’t even know what I liked to eat without him deciding. What music I wanted to play in the car. What shows I liked that weren’t his favorites. It sounds silly, but those little things matter. They’re pieces of you that you give up so slowly, you don’t even notice until you’re sitting in silence, alone, and don’t know what playlist to pick.

At first, I tried to fill the silence with distractions. I downloaded dating apps, I went out with friends even when I didn’t feel like it, I tried to prove to everyone that I was fine, better than fine. But I wasn’t. I was tired. emotionally and physically. I was carrying so much guilt and resentment and just… loss. I had to admit to myself that healing wasn’t gonna come from someone new. It had to come from me. From me giving myself all the care and attention I’d been giving someone else for over a decade. It meant sitting with my pain, even when it sucked. It meant crying in the car after grocery shopping. It meant stop pretending.

Little by little, I started doing small things just for me. I took walks without needing a destination. I started journaling, even if half the time I just wrote “i don’t know what i’m doing.” I went to therapy even tho it made me uncomfortable at first. I took long baths and lit candles for me, not for a vibe or for someone to notice. I started trying new hobbies, just to see if anything sparked joy. Painting, badly. Cooking things he’d never eat. Reading books that weren’t on his shelf. Bit by bit, I felt like I was meeting myself for the first time. And I kinda liked her. She was quieter than I remembered. Softer. But also stronger.

The biggest shift came when I stopped asking what I had done wrong to deserve the way he treated me. Because loving someone doesn’t mean losing yourself. And I finally understood that if you don’t love yourself first, you’ll accept a love that doesn’t love you back the right way. You’ll bend, shrink, hide, just to make it work. And that’s not love—that’s survival. And I don’t want to just survive anymore. I want to live. I want to laugh and feel proud and be loved the way I deserve, starting with myself. I don’t need to be perfect. I don’t need to have it all figured out. But I need to be kind to me.

So if you’re reading this, and you’re where I was, lost and grieving and doubting yourself… please know this: you are not broken. You are not unloveable. But you do have to choose you. Even if it feels selfish. Even if it hurts at first. Love yourself first, because you’re the one person who’s gonna be there from start to finish. Don’t wait for someone else to make you feel whole. Be the one who shows up for you. Every damn day.

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