Divorce didn’t break me. It freed me from a life where I was only half-loved.

For years, I convinced myself that a little love was better than none at all. That the occasional affection, the rare moments of warmth, were enough to sustain a marriage built on convenience rather than connection. I told myself that relationships go through phases, that passion fades, and that maybe I was asking for too much.

But deep down, I knew the truth. I felt the emptiness in the spaces between us—the way his touch felt obligatory, the way his words were careful but distant. I felt it in the way I reached for him, only to find he had already turned away. I wasn’t a partner in his life; I was an afterthought. And yet, I stayed, afraid of what leaving would mean.

The day I finally chose myself, I braced for the breaking, for the collapse of everything I had spent years holding together. But something surprising happened. Instead of falling apart, I felt lighter. Instead of breaking, I felt myself coming back together.

Divorce didn’t ruin me—it released me. It gave me back the space to love myself fully, to live without waiting for scraps of affection, to be whole again. Because love—real love—should never make you feel like you are only half of something. And for the first time in a long time, I am whole.