Soft Life, Hard Lessons: The Luxury of Letting Go
The Evergreen Echo
“Whatever you’re doing, keep doing it. You look ten years younger.”
That’s what a man told me recently, and I had to smile. He didn’t know he was looking at a woman who had survived a tsunami. He didn’t know that just as I had finished a hard, honest conversation with myself about the state of my marriage, a hidden betrayal hit me with a force that nearly annihilated me. I had no time to brace for the impact; I just had to decide if I was going to swim or float away aimlessly.
He didn't see the 6-month marathon of pushing through a default divorce while the other side sat in a deafening silence. He just saw the fire-engine silk press, the sexy fits, and a light in my eyes arose from fighting my way out of the gutter. I didn’t just turn a page; I survived a wreckage and built a whole new world on solid ground.
The Mourning and the Move
For eight years, I was a wife beyond reproach. I served my home with a full heart and a clear conscience. So, when the end came, the shame didn’t belong to me. It stayed with the person who caused the betrayal.
I spent two months in deep, quiet mourning for the death of what we were. I grieved every time I had to file paperwork. For six months, I didn't hear a word, a whisper, or a breath from the man I spent nearly a decade with. He didn't participate in the divorce, so I had no choice—I had to be the one to push the pen. I had to be the one to drag my own freedom across the finish line.
Life wasn't waiting for me to stop crying. My children, one of whom just became an adult last month, were watching. I told them straight: "If I’m still crying, I’m stuck." And baby, I am too quirky and too full of fire to be stuck in this goofy saga.
The Breakthrough: Quirkiness and Fire
They told me I’d be 'broken' after eight years, but they forgot I’m part Georgia peach and Washington rain; I was built to bloom in any climate. My quirkiness didn't die in that courtroom. It just got its fire back.
And let’s talk about the nerve…the absolute audacity of strangers (and even people I know) trying to insert their opinions and project their own limited life experiences onto mine. People love to tell you how to mourn a grave they didn't help dig. But I’m here to tell you: This is my life, and I have to live it. Not you. This is not a funeral; this is a celebration. This is my becoming, my breakthrough. If you see me out here laughing too loud and writing songs about the 'Hals' of the world, just know I’m not 'recovering.' I’m rooting for me, period!
Get Your Dirty Feet Off My Carpet
We’ve all seen the 'Divorce Effect' trends on TikTok—the 'then vs. now' that makes for such good algorithm fodder. I posted one, and over a thousand people watched the light come back into my eyes in real time. Then I took it to Facebook, and 3,000 views later, my inbox was overflowing with probing questions disguised as concern and 'I’m so sorry' messages from people I haven't spoken to in years.
It was a realization that hit me like a ton of bricks: The world loves a front-row seat to your trauma. They want to watch your transition like it’s a reality show, munching on popcorn while you’re doing the hard work of soul-scrubbing. But I had to check the guest list. Most of those eyes aren't genuinely concerned, they’re just nosy. By feeding them the details, I was leaving the door to my spirit wide open. I’ve worked too hard to get this 9.5 Foundation level to let random folk walk through my peace with some dirty shoes. My healing is a private invitation, not a public performance.
The Evergreen Echo
The Mystery & The Kiss
And just so we’re clear—the Lab is open, and I am officially dating. I like him, he likes me, and yes, we be kissing. Cue all the feelings. Honestly, never did I think I’d be here. But he is a daily reminder that God ain’t evaaa forgot all the love you gave out. He simply makes room for a man who can love you beterrrrrr, a man who values your future way more than your past.
What I love most isn't just the butterflies; it’s the peace he brings to my perspective. He actually told me that holding a grudge or nursing ill feelings against my ex is just a weight I don’t need to carry if I want to live a truly happy life. But don't go scrolling through my feed looking for a tag or a blurry shoulder. Social media isn't getting any glimpses here. I’ve learned that some things are too sacred to be 'content.' This is private; this is mine.
No Vacancy for the Nosy
To the thousands who watched the light come back into my eyes on a screen: Thank you for the applause, but the show is over. I am moving the rest of this journey behind the velvet rope. I am not a self-help project designed to people-please the masses or quiet the voices that got too comfy shouting over my assertiveness.
I’m no longer the woman who waits for a ghost to participate in her freedom. I am the woman who pushed the pen, wore the red, and reclaimed the decade the world tried to tell her she’d lost. My foundation is 9.5 solid, my heart is off-limits to the 'chicken caw' crowd, and for the first time in a long time, the only voice I hear is my own. I’m not just a survivor; I’m the Waldorf Astoria. And baby, there is no vacancy for anything less than five-star peace.
See you in the Lab.
