MADE WITH WANDERLOVE

Sometimes life throws you into the depths, and the way back up feels almost impossible. My darkest day came on Monday, April 27, 2020, when my then-husband walked into our guest room and uttered the words, “I can’t love you the way you deserve.” Those words cut deep, but they were only the beginning. Over the following months, I was led through a rollercoaster of emotional highs and lows. He offered hints of hope, telling me this was just a “reflection time” and not necessarily an end. I wanted to believe him—I held on to the fragments of our vows, to the glimmers of hope he offered me as I tried to piece together our life. But ultimately, it wasn’t meant to be. After a call discussing my potential move from Dallas to St. Louis, I mentioned how we’d need clear boundaries with his parents, who had enabled and coddled him for years. Soon after, he filed for divorce, and that chapter of my life came to a final close on February 2, 2021.

That day felt like a profound release—for him, his family, and, eventually, for me too. Ironically, his father used the words from Martin Luther King Jr.’s “I Have a Dream” speech, proclaiming “Free at last, free at last!” At that moment, it was as if they felt free from the weight of a promise that had been broken.

But what I didn’t realize then was that freedom would also be mine. It wasn’t the freedom I had wanted, but it became the freedom I needed to rediscover myself, to rebuild my faith, and to find comfort in the uncomfortable.

In the year that followed, he reached out, asking if I believed in “God’s reconciliation.” And yes, I do. I tried to extend a hand of friendship, thinking maybe we could make peace, if not as partners, then as people who had once shared so much. But time and again, I was shown that he couldn’t even meet the expectations I had for friendship. It was a painful lesson to learn, but I finally understood that some people are in your life for a season, and their purpose isn’t always what you once thought.

Through this journey, I leaned deeply into my faith and into the support of my community. I learned to find comfort in the uncomfortable and to let my faith guide me through each hard step. God and my community gave me strength when I felt weak, direction when I felt lost, and hope when all seemed dark. In that place of vulnerability, I found the courage to embrace uncertainty, and I began to realize the wisdom in letting go of things and people that no longer serve your growth. And A LOT, I mean A LOT of self-reflection and therapy!

If there’s one thing this experience taught me, it’s that healing takes time, and faith is essential. Grief doesn’t have a definite end or destination. Grief is actually a beautiful tribute to the love you had for that person. What a beautiful thing that joy and sadness can walk hand in hand and coexist simultaneously. When you let go of expectations, and when you trust that God and your community are with you, you find the resilience to keep moving forward, even when the path ahead is unclear. Some journeys end to make space for new beginnings. And sometimes, when it feels like life has shattered, you find pieces of yourself that you’d forgotten. In the end, I learned that my journey was never really about him or anyone else. It was about me, my faith, and the community that held me up when I needed it most. But would I be able to open my heart again? Would I be able to be vulnerable and trusting? Would I love again…