Love Wasn’t Enough. But Choosing Me Will Be

I don’t know how I thought I would feel after he moved out. Even now—two weeks later—I don’t fully understand my feelings.

The day he left, I was strong. I watched the U-Haul truck being loaded as movers carried pieces of our home away. And I felt… numb. I just wanted it to be over. I didn’t cry. I didn’t fall apart. I immediately started scrubbing my bathroom and bedroom, like I needed to erase his DNA the same way he disappeared from my life.

I told myself I was fine.

But when I got frustrated fixing a cabinet—when the screw wouldn’t go in and I couldn’t get it right—I broke down. I started crying right in front of my son, even though I was trying so hard not to. I wanted to be strong for him. But in that moment, I lost it.

I cried because…
He actually left me.
Because I know in my heart he’s with someone else.
Because he no longer wanted me.
Because he stopped loving me a long time ago.
Because I wasn’t his forever like he once promised.

Two weeks later, I’m still sorting through it all. Some days I blame myself. I think about the ways I made him feel excluded. But then I remember—I was in survival mode. I was protecting my heart because of how badly he treated me. And every reaction I had… was a response to the way he made me feel.

Sometimes my response was silence. Sometimes it was shutting down. Sometimes it was choosing emotional distance because I couldn’t keep breaking in the same place over and over.

We probably should’ve ended this a long time ago. Maybe it wouldn’t have hurt so much. But this? This ending? It still hurts.

What breaks me the most is the thought that he might be happier now that I’m no longer in his life. That he might feel relief that I’m finally gone. That kind of pain is hard to describe.

The nights are the hardest. The loneliness wraps around me like a blanket. It’s heavy. It aches. It makes me long to be held. Touched. Talked to. Kissed. Noticed. Loved.

I pray to fall asleep quickly just to escape the reality of everything I’ve lost this past year.

Because it’s more than a marriage.

I lost the belief that love was enough.
I lost trust in men.
I lost the dream of growing old with someone.
I lost my faith that loyalty could still exist.
I lost the man I was truly in love with.
And I lost the version of me who thought being unhappy in a relationship was just the cost of commitment.

It should never have been.

I tried to make it work. I stayed longer than I should have. I hoped harder than I admitted. But it was already too late.

So I gave up the fight for my marriage—and I let him go. Not because I stopped loving him. But because I want him to be happy… even if that happiness doesn’t include me.

And now—two weeks with no calls, no messages, no trace of him—I realize something.

I’m struggling… but I’m making it.
I’m sad… but I’m still living.
I feel lonely… but I’m still here. And I still have me.

Love is not always enough.

But this time…
I am.

I have no choice but to love myself.
To trust God.
To surrender to His process.
To believe that there is healing on the other side of heartbreak.

Because this time…
She chose herself.

“And sometimes, choosing yourself means letting go with love… even when your heart is still holding on.” 💔

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