I’ve learned that when my anxiety flares, the best thing I can do is walk—long walks, where my thoughts can breathe and my heart can reflect. Each step gives space for clarity, for untangling the knots in my mind.

Lately, during those quiet walks, I’ve found myself thinking deeply about my relationship and marriage with my ex. At first, I expected to feel the ache of missing her constantly. But something surprising happened: I noticed that I don’t always miss her anymore. What I do feel… is peace.

I no longer walk on eggshells. I’m no longer afraid of being too much or too little. And in that stillness, I began to see all the conversations we never had—the ones about our likes, dislikes, values, or even the small things that made us, us.

Now, I’m starting to understand what I want and need in a future partner. I’m learning to look for green flags, not chase red ones disguised as love. Still, the truth isn’t always so simple—sometimes, I do miss my ex. I remember the good, the warmth, the laughter. But I also remember the silence when she was angry, and the weight of not knowing what she felt. And in those moments, I don’t miss her.

There’s a quiet sadness in knowing we’re no longer together. But more than anything, I hold gratitude—for the lessons, for the love we had, for the growth that came through the pain. Our separation, our soon-to-be divorce, is one of the hardest lessons I’ve had to face.

You know, when I was younger, I swore I’d never get divorced. My family called it a curse. They said we’d be looked down upon, seen as broken or unworthy. The word “divorce” used to terrify me—like it meant failure or shame.

But here I am now… accepting that I will be divorced. And no, I don’t see it as something negative anymore. Divorce can be a form of release, of truth, of choosing peace over pretense. I’m no longer afraid to say it out loud.

I’m still walking through the tunnel, still healing, still learning how to hold all these feelings at once. Some days, I feel okay. Some days, not so much. But I’m learning that both are part of healing.

I hope one day soon I’ll reach the light. That I’ll be able to let go of my ex fully—with grace, with peace, and with love for what was. I hope to close this chapter not in bitterness, but in softness. Because I am not broken. I am becoming.

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For You, Reader:

Have you ever held onto something longer than it held you?

What helped you finally let go?

What does peace feel like in your body?

And when you imagine your next chapter—what do you hope it feels like?