Lately, I’ve realized something that feels both heartbreaking and strangely freeing.

The thing I miss most isn’t my marriage.

It’s me.

And honestly… I’m not even sure who I am anymore.

Somewhere over the last twenty years, my identity stopped being about me as a person.

It stopped being about what I loved.
What excited me.
What mattered to me.

Instead, I became a wife.
A mom.
The person who kept things running.
The person who adjusted.
The person who stayed.

And now, in my forties, I’m sitting here asking myself a question I probably should have asked a long time ago:

Who am I outside of everyone else?

The truth is, I don’t fully know yet.

No, I haven’t left.

But nothing at home has changed either.

We still live more like roommates than partners.
Two people existing in the same space, but not really sharing a life together.

For years, I kept waiting for something to change.
For him to change.
For us to change.
For things to somehow feel different.

But eventually you realize that waiting can become its own kind of prison.

And maybe the change has to start with me.

So lately, I’ve been trying to find pieces of myself again.

I started reading regularly, which used to be one of my favorite things in the world. I even joined a book club — something my husband has always mocked as “just an excuse for cheating.”

But I joined anyway.

Because I’m tired of shrinking my life to fit inside someone else’s opinions.

I’ve also started doing things that scare me.

Going to dinner alone.
Going to a concert alone.
Even considering going to a sporting event alone.

Not because I necessarily want to do those things alone.

But because I’m done begging someone to want to spend time with me.

That realization hurt more than I expected.

There’s something deeply painful about realizing you’ve spent years asking someone to choose you in small ways.
To sit with you.
Talk with you.
Experience life with you.

And watching them continue not to.

So now I’m learning something I probably should have learned a long time ago:

How to be comfortable alone.

Because the truth is, as much as I love the idea of having a partner to share life with… that isn’t what I actually have.

And admitting that has changed something in me.

I’m not strong yet.

At least not as strong as I want to be.

But I’m getting stronger every day.

Every time I try something new.
Every time I stop apologizing for taking up space.
Every time I choose myself instead of waiting to be chosen.

I’m slowly figuring out who I am.
What I value.
What I deserve.

And maybe that’s where healing actually begins.

Not when your life suddenly changes overnight.

But when you finally start finding your way back to yourself.