falling

I promise being divorced isn’t my entire personality now (lol), but it’s definitely something that changed the course of my life. It brought me to where I am today: continually working on loving who I am, feeling at peace with where my life is, and being in a relationship I honestly didn’t know could exist—one that feels easy, safe, and genuinely right.

When I talk about the past, I always speak from my own perspective. I’m not here to play the blame game or convince anyone who was “right” or “wrong.” The truth is, no one was. We just weren’t meant to be. And I’m incredibly grateful I listened to my instincts and made the harder choice: to put my happiness and mental health first, and walk away from something that no longer served me.

That experience gave me a masterclass in growth. It taught me how I want to show up in love, what I deserve, and what I’ll never tolerate again. Honestly, I don’t think I truly knew what a healthy relationship looked like until now. I was trying to build a life with someone when I hadn’t even learned how to love myself yet. (Spoiler alert: that part’s kind of crucial.)

I’m proud that I can look back and see it as a chapter of growth instead of letting it harden into resentment. Because really, resentment is just emotional hoarding—useless clutter that only weighs you down. Choosing peace over bitterness has been one of the best gifts I’ve given myself. It’s allowed me to grow, reflect, and better understand how I want to show up in love—and what I actually deserve in return.

The truth is, I’m not sure I’d ever experienced a truly healthy relationship before this one. I was lost, trying to pour into something without first learning how to meet myself where I was. I hadn’t done the work to love myself, and in turn that hurt both me and the relationship.

Falling in love after divorce—or after being with someone you once thought was forever—is surreal. It’s weird, it’s beautiful, it’s a little scary… and it’s hands down been my favorite plot twist yet.

I truly believe that, in some capacity, we all want love—whatever that may look like for each of us. And for me, I’d much rather be alone, standing in my truth rather than settle for something that doesn’t align with who I am or the life I want to build moving forward. Love should feel like a partnership, not a performance nor as if you are caring for the other. It should feel like home—not a place you’re constantly trying to rearrange yourself to fit into.

For a long time, I thought love meant endurance—like if you just stuck it out long enough, things would magically get better. Plot twist: they don’t and for sure didn’t in my situation. Turns out, real love isn’t supposed to feel like emotional CrossFit. It’s not about constantly pushing through or sacrificing yourself to keep something alive. It’s about two people showing up, choosing each other, and actually liking the version of themselves they are in the relationship.

After taking time to learn more about myself and what I actually needed, I still had to wade through a fair share of wrong choices. There were a lot of trials and tribulations—some almosts, a few what-was-I-thinking situations, and a handful of “lesson learned” moments that tested both my patience and my group chat’s emotional bandwidth. But every one of them taught me something—mostly about myself, what I value, and what I’m no longer willing to shrink for. I used to think wanting more made me picky or unrealistic—but now I know it just means I have standards.

Not (toooooooo) long after I finally let go of what wasn’t meant for me, I met him—the person who showed me what it actually feels like to be in something healthy. There was no chaos, no second-guessing, no performing. Just ease, honesty, and a kind of peace I didn’t realize relationships could bring. It didn’t feel like a movie—it felt like a deep breath.

Love after divorce is something you don’t plan for — it sort of sneaks up on you when you’re just trying to remember how to be yourself again. But when it comes, it feels like something new. Not because love itself has changed, but because you have.

You learn to show up differently — with more awareness, more patience, and more willingness to speak the truth, even when it’s uncomfortable. You know what matters now. You know what’s worth letting go of, and what’s absolutely non-negotiable. You also stop pretending. There’s no more performing, no more shrinking, no more trying to be “low maintenance” when you know you need depth and consistency. You want something that can grow, not just something that’s exciting. And you’re finally okay with saying that out loud.

Love the second time around isn’t louder — it’s steadier. It feels like being seen in the quiet moments, like having someone who stays curious about who you are. It’s choosing someone who’s not perfect, but real. And it’s letting them choose you, with all your stories, softness, and strength.

So if you’re in that in-between space — healing, hoping, not quite sure if love will find you again — let this be a gentle reminder:

It will. If you want it.

It may not look the way you imagined, and that’s okay. It’ll come when you’re ready — not when you’re fixed, not when life is perfect, but when your heart says, “Alright. Let’s try this again. But this time, differently.”

And when it does? You’ll know.
Because this time, you’re not falling.
You’re walking into it — eyes open, heart wiser, and absolutely ready.

ily,

B