After nearly thirty years together, I finally broke. For more than a decade, I’d been overfunctioning—managing, fixing, holding everything together while slowly disappearing in the process. Leaving wasn’t about anger; it was about survival.
Now, in my late forties, I’m a single mom going through a divorce, starting over in a new place. I thought people would come out of the woodwork to help, that someone would notice how much I was struggling. But no one did—except one dear friend who drove states just to be with me for a week, overwhelming herself trying to hold me up.
It’s strange how quiet life becomes when you finally stop carrying everyone else’s weight. The village everyone talks about? I’m still waiting for it. But I’m learning to be my own—one day, one small act of self-kindness at a time.
Leaving broke me open, but it also reminded me that I deserve rest, care, and peace too. Maybe that’s what healing really looks like.
Michelle, 47, Colorado Springs, CO
