What My Second Story Is Teaching Me About Strength

Because sometimes strength looks like softness, surrender, and starting over.

There was a moment when the dust of divorce started to settle, and what was left was just... me. Sitting in a quiet room that used to be filled with shared noise. I didn’t know what to do with the swirl of hurt, grief, confusion, anger, and exhaustion. Some days, it felt like there was no container big enough to hold it all.

In that early space, I tried everything to feel better. Therapy. Long walks. Yoga. Making plans with friends, and then canceling them when I couldn’t bear the small talk. I read the books, listened to the podcasts, saved the Instagram quotes. Some helped. Some didn’t. Some made it worse.

I went to a reiki healer. A massage therapist. I even sat across from a tarot card reader and asked the universe for a sign that I would feel whole again.

Sometimes answers came in bits and pieces. Sometimes not at all.

But I should say this—I'm a few years out and still trying to put the pieces together. This lesson is still sinking in:
Don’t close your heart.
Not to the pain. Not to the healing. Not even to the person who hurt you. And especially not to yourself.

Forgiveness is messy.
And it’s not always linear.

Forgiving your ex-partner (or yourself) might not happen all at once. It might not happen for a long time. But harboring bitterness is a heavy thing to carry into your next chapter. And forgiving doesn’t mean forgetting, excusing, or erasing. It means loosening your grip.

In the swirl, I stayed grounded through small things. My monthly massage appointment. The stack of books I kept next to my bed. A few friends who didn’t push or try to fix me. And some days, just being alone and learning how to care for myself—how I need to be cared for—was enough.

Everyone says time heals. And yes, it does.
But also? Self-love heals. Movement heals. Laughter helps. Crying helps too. So does deleting your social media for a while and going to the farmers market and buying yourself the flowers.

There’s no perfect formula for moving forward.

This blog isn’t a guidebook. It’s not a list of 10 perfect steps to heal. It’s just a glimpse into a chapter of my life. My second story.

One where I started curating a new space—a little home that holds only the things I love. One where I created space within myself, too. To rest. To be. To start again.

And about that word: failure.

I’ve heard people say, "My marriage failed."
But what if we reframed that?

What if it was successful for many seasons? What if it taught you what you needed to know? What if it ran its course and ended not because you failed, but because you outgrew the container?

Failure is a loaded word. Don’t speak it over yourself.

Be gentle with your words.
They shape your healing.

Be intentional with your space. It reflects your becoming.

You are not broken.
You are building.
And your second story might just be the most beautiful one yet.