This Saturday Was Supposed to Be Our Anniversary

Saturday is coming, and I can feel the weight of it pressing harder on my chest with every passing hour. It would’ve been our 12th wedding anniversary. But this year, there’s no “us.” No celebration. No late-night laughter. No reminiscing over old pictures or whispering promises about forever.

This is the first year we won’t be together on our anniversary. And while I’ve tried to prepare myself—praying for strength, hoping the day would just come and go quickly—my heart still aches. Deeply.

I haven’t cried in almost a week, but today I can feel the tears welling up again. I think I need to let them come. I think my heart needs the release.

Living in the same space as someone who no longer loves you feels like slow, daily heartbreak. Even though he spends very little time at home, the moments he is here are filled with the kind of silence that screams. Every night, I’m reminded that I’m no longer seen in the way I long to be. And I can’t even tell what hurts more—when he ignores me, or when he’s kind out of habit.

Everything just… hurts.

I’ve always loved love stories. The kind where people weather storms and still choose each other. The kind where love wins. I used to believe that would be us. But now, I’m stuck in a story I never wanted to write—one where love wasn’t enough to keep us together.

I know people get divorced all the time. But no one really talks about the emotional toll—the way it drains your soul, your mind, your body. Maybe it’s harder for me because I didn’t choose this. Maybe it’s easier for him because he stopped loving me a long time ago.

And still… I wish my love would just fade too.

The cruelest part? He’s now everything I used to pray he would become—stronger, more present, more grounded. But I’m no longer the woman he wants to share that version of himself with. I forgave him for the things we both got wrong. But while I was fighting to keep us together, he was already preparing to leave.

I don’t think he misses me. I don’t think he thinks about me. When he speaks to me, it feels more like a reflex than a desire. And every time he walks through the door, I’m reminded—our marriage didn’t make it. We didn’t make it.

Part of me just wants Saturday to come and go quickly. I don’t even want to be in his presence that day—it’s too heavy. And I’m mad at myself that I’m not over this yet. That after everything, there’s still a sliver of my heart holding onto a ridiculous hope that he’ll wake up, realize he still loves me, and choose me all over again—like one of those dramatic but beautiful movie endings.

But this isn’t a movie.
This is my reality.

And in this version, I’m the one left behind. He’s already out there living a life that no longer includes me, while I’m here trying to pick up the pieces of what we built.

I just want to be okay again.

I want my mind to stop replaying memories.
I want my heart to stop aching.
I want to move on—not just physically, but emotionally.
I want to choose myself.

I want peace.
I want to find joy again.
I want to experience love again—but this time, starting with me.

So I’m praying—every day—trusting God to carry me through this ache, even when it feels unbearable. And most of all, I’m asking Him to take this longing out of my heart, to remove the hope that keeps me stuck.

Because even though my heart isn’t okay right now… I know that one day, it will be.
And even if I cry this Saturday, I’ll still be choosing me.

Quote:
“Sometimes, the bravest thing you’ll ever do is stop waiting to be chosen… and choose yourself instead.”

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