I didn’t lose a husband; I lost a weight I was never meant to carry. For years, I convinced myself that marriage meant endurance—that love was about sacrifice, even when I was the only one sacrificing. I held on, bending and breaking under the weight of expectations, disappointments, and silent loneliness. I kept hoping things would change, that if I just tried harder, loved deeper, or stayed patient a little longer, he would finally see me.

But the truth is, I was disappearing. My laughter was quieter, my dreams smaller, my spirit dimmed. I wasn’t living—I was existing in a space that no longer felt like home. And when I finally chose myself, when I walked away from the life I had worked so hard to build, I thought I would feel empty. Instead, I felt something I hadn’t in years—relief.

Now, every step I take is lighter, freer, and entirely my own. I wake up in the morning without the weight of wondering if I’m enough. I fill my days with things that bring me joy, not just obligations. I rediscover pieces of myself that I had buried for the sake of keeping a broken marriage intact.

Leaving wasn’t easy, but neither was staying. And now, I finally understand that love—true love—shouldn’t feel like a burden. It should feel like freedom. And in choosing to walk away, I found exactly that.