He Loved Me Enough to Let Me Go. Now I’m Learning to Love Me Enough to Stay.

It’s getting real now.

We’re finalizing everything—splitting finances, discussing next steps, untangling what we built together. What once felt like a slow emotional drift has become a concrete separation. It’s no longer just a quiet ache—it’s an undeniable reality.

He’s leaving.

And even though I’ve known it was coming, the finality of it still caught me off guard. The weight of it sits heavy in my chest, pressing against the part of me that used to believe this would last forever.

To protect myself, I’ve started recalling the moments he hurt me. Not out of spite or bitterness, but as a way to stay rooted in the truth—because if I don’t, I risk falling back into the fantasy of what we once were. If I focus on the ways I felt unseen, unloved, unsupported… I can remind myself why this separation is not only necessary, but healthy. For both of us.

The truth is, we were never fully compatible. We didn’t share much in common—except for one powerful thing: we loved each other. For a while, I believed that would be enough to hold us together. I really did. But love alone wasn’t enough.

We both made mistakes. We both grew, but in different directions. We viewed love, partnership, and commitment through different lenses. And somewhere along the way, we stopped choosing each other.

I’ll never claim to have been the perfect wife. No one is.
Being a wife—just like being a parent or a partner—is something you figure out as you go. It takes learning, unlearning, falling short, and trying again. And when two people with strong individual pasts try to become one, it takes more than love to make it work. Especially when you’ve both learned how to survive alone.

I remember asking his parents—married over 40 years—what their secret was.
His father said something I’ll never forget:

“You’ll both grow individually. And you have to learn how to grow together. Because people change. Needs change. And nothing stays the same.”

That stuck with me. Because I thought I had done that. I thought I supported him through every stage of his evolution. I stood beside him. I cheered him on. I believed in him, even when he didn’t believe in himself. I stayed faithful—not just to the relationship, but to his growth.

But as he grew, his love for me faded. I continued choosing him… even when he stopped choosing me.

Looking back now, I realize that his growth didn’t include me in his future. I became a season. A lesson. A chapter. And maybe he was that for me, too.

Because what I’ve learned is this:
No matter how hard you love,
No matter how much you sacrifice,
No matter how deeply you hope or how long you stay…
if it’s not meant to be, it won’t be.

We should’ve let go years ago.
But we clung to the idea that love would be enough.
And it wasn’t.

This pain—the kind that sits in your bones and wraps around your throat—has been the deepest I’ve ever known. Some days I feel like I’m going to break under the weight of it. I keep telling myself I trust God and the process, and I do… but sometimes, I just want the ache to stop.

He didn’t say goodbye this morning. And it stung more than I wanted it to.
But then I remembered—he doesn’t owe me that anymore.
That’s something married people do.
And we haven’t really been married in a long time.

Strangely, part of me is thankful that he finally broke it off.
Because I deserve a love that chooses me—fully, freely, and without hesitation.
And he deserves someone who can meet him where he is emotionally.
I want him to be happy, even if it’s not with me.

I still care.
I still want to see him win.
I still want him to smile.

But more than anything…
I want to feel whole again.

Because being unchosen by someone you would’ve chosen a thousand times over is a specific kind of grief. One that leaves you questioning yourself and your worth.

And yet… I have to ask myself—
Did I want him again because I loved him?
Or because he felt familiar?
Because pain, when it’s what you know, can almost feel like home?

Maybe—just maybe—he did me the biggest favor by walking away.
Maybe this is my second chance.
A chance to breathe.
To rebuild.
To live.

He loved me enough to let me go.
And now it’s time for me to love myself enough to stay.

To stay when I want to run back to what’s familiar.
To stay when I feel lonely.
To stay when I wonder if I’ll ever feel deeply loved again.
To stay with myself—through the healing, the quiet, the rebuilding.

Because I’ve spent years giving my love to everyone but me.
And now, it’s time to turn that love inward.

It’s time to meet the woman I’ve become.
To comfort her.
To support her.
To tell her she’s beautiful, strong, and capable of getting through this.

It’s time to look her in the mirror and say:

“I’m proud of you.
You didn’t break.
You survived what you thought would destroy you.
And choosing yourself—though it hurts right now—will be the most powerful thing you’ve ever done.”

And I will.
Day by day.
Tear by tear.
Step by step.

I will choose me.
Over and over again.
Until it doesn’t feel like survival anymore.
It feels like home.

Quote:
“She stopped waiting for someone to choose her.
She chose herself. Fully. Fiercely. Forever.”

With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.