This Fire Wasn’t My Choice… But I’m Walking Through It Anyway

This morning, my chest felt tight again. That familiar ache — like my heart is trying to break quietly so I can still function. I’ve felt it every day for months now. But today, something shifted. I realized I’ve been focusing so much on losing my marriage that I haven’t stopped to grieve what it really means.

I’m not just losing a relationship. I’m losing the life I built around someone I believed would never leave. I’m losing security. Partnership. Shared responsibilities. Shared dreams.

Now I’m standing in the rubble, trying to figure out how to survive with half the income and double the weight. I still have a family to raise. A home to keep. A life to rebuild. And the reality that keeps punching me in the chest is this: I’m a single mom again.

And yes, I’ve done it before. But this time, I’m walking into it already tired.

Before marriage, I was a machine. I worked overtime, went to school full time, paid bills, kissed boo-boos, made dinner, and stayed up late trying to give my kids a life they didn’t have to recover from. I didn’t expect help. I didn’t have time to fall apart. I just… did what I had to do.

Even in the beginning of our marriage, I was the one holding it down. I was the breadwinner. I carried the weight. And then things shifted — he grew financially, and for once, we had stability. It was quiet. Comfortable. For the first time in years, I was able to breathe.

I wasn’t just surviving anymore. I had balance. I could log off at 5 p.m. and not feel guilty. I didn’t have to grind 24/7 just to keep the lights on. And I let my guard down. I let myself believe I didn’t have to do it all alone anymore.

But now?

Now I’m back at square one — and this time, I don’t feel strong. I feel betrayed.

I trusted someone to stay. To be the one person I didn’t have to survive from. I built my life around that belief. And now that he’s leaving, I’m scrambling to find the version of me that used to be able to carry it all.

Where did she go?

I don’t want to find her again. I don’t want to become her again. But I have to — because life isn’t waiting for me to catch up.

And it hurts like hell.

This breakup is shattering me in ways I didn’t even know were possible. But it’s also teaching me what I should’ve always known: you have to have your own back. Always. No matter how good it feels. No matter how secure it looks. No matter how long they’ve stayed.

Because the moment you believe someone else will carry you… you forget how to carry yourself.

Now, I’m being forced to evolve — not gently, not gradually, but violently. Through heartbreak. Through fear. Through complete loss of control.

There’s no “we” anymore. No partner. No backup. There’s just… me.

Me. Standing in the middle of the fire, trying not to collapse under the weight of everything I still have to hold together.

I’m supposed to be strong for my kids. For my family. For myself. But inside? I feel like I’m crumbling. I feel like I’ve failed — at marriage, at love, at stability, at life. I feel like he looked at everything I gave and still decided I wasn’t enough.

And the truth that haunts me the most is this: Maybe I never really chose myself… so how could I expect anyone else to?

This is the hardest thing I’ve ever had to walk through. And I hate it. I hate that I have no choice. I hate that I still love him. I hate that I let myself believe he would stay. I hate that I’m not ready… but I still have to rise anyway.

And through all of that hate — there’s one constant:

God has never left me.

Not once. Not when I was a struggling single mom. Not when I was questioning my worth. Not even now, when everything around me feels like it’s burning to the ground.

God is still here. And maybe… I am too.

Choosing myself now means learning how to love a woman who is completely shattered — and still trying. It means believing I’m worthy even when the world feels like it’s screaming that I’m not. It means forgiving myself. Holding myself. Speaking life over myself. It means realizing that what people think of me isn’t more powerful than what I believe about me.

It means putting myself first… after a lifetime of being last.

Choosing me is the bravest, loneliest, most painful thing I’ve ever had to do. But I’m doing it. Because no one else will.

This fire? I didn’t ask for it. But I’m walking through it anyway.

> “She didn’t ask for this fire. But she learned how to survive it. And now she’s learning how to rise from it.”

With love + truth,

💔 Aria Monroe 💗

Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.

The Pictures Said “Forever” — But They Didn’t Show the Pain

This month would’ve marked twelve years of marriage. And just like clockwork, Facebook memories have started to pop up.

Photos of us smiling. Embracing. Laughing on vacation. Posts filled with heart emojis and promises of forever. Comments from friends saying how lucky we were. How they hoped to find a love like ours.

And looking at them now —
I see a woman who was trying so hard to hold it all together.
I see a smile stretched wide across my face.
But what I don’t see… is the pain hiding behind it.

Because those pictures didn’t show the moments when I was being slowly broken down.

They didn’t show the yelling. The name-calling. The emotional bruises that never left a mark on my skin, but deeply scarred my soul.

They didn’t show me walking on eggshells in my own home — never knowing what mood he’d be in, what small thing would set him off, what version of him I’d be met with that day. His temper wasn’t just quick… it was cruel. And I learned to adapt. So did my kids.

He never hit me physically.
But emotionally?
He hit me over and over again.

And I stayed.

I stayed because I held onto the good moments.
Because in between the storms, there were sunny days. We laughed. We held each other. We went on dates. We dreamed together. We made love. We raised a family. And I kept chasing that version of us — the one that showed up sometimes. The one that reminded me why I fell in love with him in the first place.

But the truth is…
We started dying long before the conversations about separation ever happened.

We stopped taking pictures.
We stopped posting about each other.
We changed our profile photos from us… to just ourselves.
We started living separately while still under the same roof — finding happiness away from each other instead of with each other.

We weren’t partners anymore.
We were two people coexisting in the memory of a marriage that no longer existed.

And when he finally said the words — that he wanted to live his life without me — I wasn’t shocked. Deep down, I knew. I just wasn’t ready to face it.

Because he was strong enough to choose himself first.
And I had to be strong enough to stop choosing someone who wouldn’t choose me back.

I’ve never been good with change I didn’t initiate. I settle into situations, even painful ones. I adapt. I get used to the cycles — because even chaos can start to feel familiar when it’s all you’ve known.

But this?
This time, I don’t get to stay.
This time, I’m being pushed to finally choose myself.

And it hurts like hell.

Because I gave him everything I had. I molded myself to fit the cracks. I silenced my needs. I showed up with love over and over again, even when I wasn’t met with the same effort. And now, with nothing left to give him… I have to find a way to give everything back to me.

But the woman I used to be — she’s gone.
She didn’t survive this.

And maybe that’s okay.

Because the version of me that’s rising now? She’s softer and stronger. She doesn’t shrink to be chosen. She doesn’t settle for affection that comes with pain. She’s learning to love herself in the spaces where she once felt unworthy. She’s rebuilding. From scratch. With tears in her eyes and a fire in her spirit.

Every tear I cry is not weakness.
It’s release.
It’s healing.
It’s proof that I’m moving forward.
One breath at a time. One truth at a time. One brave, beautiful choice at a time.

So yes — this month hurts.
These memories sting.
But I’m no longer mourning just the marriage.
I’m mourning the version of me who thought being loved meant being broken.

She deserved better.
I deserve better.

And this time… I’m not waiting for someone to choose me.
This time, I choose me.

“Just because a picture is perfect, doesn’t mean the story behind it was. Smiles can lie. But healing doesn’t.”

With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.

When You’re Lying Next to Someone Whose Love Is Gone

There’s a kind of heartbreak no one prepares you for — the kind where you’re still lying in the same bed, still under the same roof, but the love that once lived between you is… gone. Quietly. Slowly. Almost unnoticeably at first. Until one day, you roll over in the middle of the night and realize you’re next to someone who feels more like a roommate than a partner. Someone whose love has already packed up and left, even if their body hasn’t.

That’s the kind of pain I’ve been living with.

We still sleep side by side, but the connection is long gone. The silence isn’t peaceful — it’s heavy. We don’t fight. We don’t scream. But we also don’t talk. There’s no laughter, no inside jokes, no warmth. It’s just… stillness. Distance. An emotional gap that keeps stretching between us no matter how physically close we are.

When he’s not home, I feel a strange sense of peace. Not because I don’t love him. Not because I don’t miss what we used to be. But because his absence gives my heart room to breathe. I don’t have to pretend. I don’t have to feel the sting of being ignored or the ache of being unseen. I don’t have to notice how his eyes brighten when he talks to the dog, but go dim when they meet mine. I don’t have to wonder if his heart has found a new place to rest — one that isn’t me.

I used to be his everything. His person. The one he looked at like I was magic. And now? I feel like a shadow in the home we built together.

Some nights, I lay there wondering what happened. Wondering what changed. Wondering if I was ever enough, or if I was just temporary comfort on the way to whatever he truly wanted. I question if I could’ve done more. If I should’ve held on tighter, or loosened my grip sooner.

And then there are the rings.

I still wear them, though I’m not sure why. Maybe because taking them off makes everything too real. Maybe because they remind me of the vows we made and the hope I once had. But lately, they feel heavier. Like they’re holding memories I no longer recognize. I look down at my hand and ask myself what it will feel like to finally remove them. What I’ll do with that space on my finger. And deeper still — what I’ll do with the space in my heart. The space that was once filled with promises, security, love… and now feels hollow.

I always thought my husband would protect me — not just physically, but emotionally. That he’d be my safe space, my soft place to land. But instead, the man I trusted to guard my heart slowly became the one who wounded it most.

That realization has been the hardest to accept.

Because it wasn’t just one moment of betrayal. It was death by a thousand cuts. Each cold shoulder. Each conversation left unsaid. Each time he stopped noticing me, listening to me, choosing me.

And through it all… I’ve still been praying.

In the beginning, I prayed for him. For us. For God to fix it. To bring him back to me. To help him see me again. I prayed for the love to return. For the spark to reignite. For the marriage I believed in to somehow be restored.

But now… my prayers have shifted.

I still pray every day. But now I pray for peace. I pray for the courage to let go of what’s already let go of me. I pray for clarity, for healing, for the strength to choose myself — even when it hurts. Even when I still miss him. Even when the memory of who we used to be still breaks my heart.

Because slowly, I’m realizing something I wish I had seen sooner: I don’t have to keep holding on to someone who stopped holding me a long time ago.

I don’t have to keep betraying myself to keep a marriage that no longer reflects love.

I don’t have to wear rings that symbolize a promise he’s no longer keeping.

And I definitely don’t have to stay in a bed that makes me feel lonelier than sleeping alone ever could.

This isn’t about giving up. It’s about waking up.

It’s about realizing that staying in something that’s already emotionally over isn’t strength — it’s survival. And I don’t want to just survive anymore. I want to live. I want to breathe deeply again. I want to laugh without it catching in my throat. I want to feel peace in my own skin. I want to feel seen, loved, chosen — even if, for now, that love comes from me alone.

I still wear the rings today.

But I know the time is coming when I’ll take them off. Maybe with trembling hands. Maybe through tears. Maybe in silence.

But when I do… it won’t just be the end of a marriage.

It’ll be the beginning of me coming back home to myself.

Because yes, I loved him. Deeply. Fully. Faithfully. But now… I’m learning to love me just as deeply. And that love? That’s the one I won’t lose again.

“The hardest part isn’t letting go of him. It’s letting go of the version of me who accepted less than I deserved.”

With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.

He Didn’t Choose Me. So This Time, I Chose Me.

I used to think I’d never be able to say the words out loud. That if I did, the world would see me as a failure. A woman who couldn’t keep her man. A woman who lost at love. A woman who wasn’t enough.

But I’m learning now—I didn’t fail. I stayed too long in a story that no longer belonged to me.

The truth is, he cheated on me.

Even before I found out, I could feel the shift. Our relationship had already started fading. The calls stopped. The texts changed. He used to call me multiple times a day, just to check in or say he loved me. He used to look at me like I was magic. Now he barely looked at me at all, and when he did, it was with eyes that saw me as a friend—not as his wife.

I kept asking him if something was going on. If he was seeing someone else. He said no every time.

But something in my gut knew. And one day, when I saw his Apple Watch sitting on the counter, I looked through it. I had never looked through his phone in all our twelve years of marriage. But that day… I needed the truth.

And there it was. A message that read, “Good morning baby doll.”
Just like he used to say to me.

The thread continued with “I love yous,” “I miss yous,” and “We’re each other’s forever.”

As I stood there, stunned, the messages began disappearing—right before my eyes—because he was erasing them on his phone.

I confronted him immediately. I asked him who she was, and he lied, saying she was just a client. But I knew. I knew she wasn’t just a client.

I had never seen him so speechless.

And I had never felt so gutted.

The man I loved, the one I gave my loyalty, my body, my sacrifices to—chose someone else. And even after that betrayal, I begged him to stay. I begged him to choose me.

That was five months ago.

In that time, I’ve tried so hard to become more of what he wanted. I cooked more. I became more available sexually. I made changes—trying to find my way back into a heart that had already locked its door.

But it didn’t matter. Because he had already chosen himself.

And I was begging to be loved by a man who had let go of me long before I realized it.

I have been praying to God every day—begging Him to take the pain away and help me feel worthy again. At first, I prayed for God to change his heart, to bring him back to me, to help him choose me. But now… now my prayers are different. Now I pray for peace. For strength. For healing. I ask God to help me love myself again and stand in my truth. I’ve come to understand that we were never meant to be forever—we were meant to be a lesson, a chapter, a placeholder. The more I pray, the more I accept that I was never unworthy—I was just giving my love to someone who couldn’t carry it. And now I know—I deserve to choose me.

Now that I’ve had time to sit with it, I see everything more clearly. I sacrificed so much. I sacrificed my self-respect. My peace. My joy. My voice. My boundaries. I twisted myself into shapes I never liked to make him happy.

But none of it brought him back.

Because love—true love—doesn’t require you to betray yourself just to be chosen.

He’s moving out in a few months, and strangely, I feel relief. Not because I’m not still hurting—I am. But because I’m no longer clinging to something that was never mine to hold on to.

I want a love that doesn’t make me beg. I want a love that sees me, that holds me, that feels like home. I want to be someone’s choice—not their convenience.

He didn’t choose me.
So this time, I chose me.

With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.

When He Loved Me

There was a time when I knew I was loved. Deeply. Fully. Without question.

I’ve been sitting in quiet reflection lately… trying to figure out when it all changed. And honestly, I’m not even sure. But what I do know — with everything in me — is that once upon a time, he loved me with his whole heart.

I remember how his light hazel eyes sparkled when he looked at me, like I was the only woman in the world. There was something in the way he studied me — not just my body, but my soul. He memorized my curves, my laugh, the way I moved, the way I spoke. I had never felt so wanted. So seen.

He started paying for everything right away. I didn’t have to ask — he just provided. As a single mom, that kind of love felt like a miracle. My children’s fathers hadn’t even done half of what he did effortlessly. And he didn’t have much — but what he had, he gave. Without hesitation. Without complaint. That kind of selfless giving made me feel worthy. Special. Chosen.

We talked for hours, made passionate love, and wanted to be near each other constantly. I was juggling work, school, motherhood, and still — he didn’t complain. He just showed up. Wherever I needed him, he was there. We got married after dating for just a few months. I had sworn I would never get married again — my first marriage had been painful, short, and full of disappointment. But with him? I felt safe. He gave me something I hadn’t felt in a long time — hope.

He loved me. He loved my kids. He took care of us like we were his. And maybe that’s why it hurts so deeply now.

Because that version of him doesn’t exist anymore.

After we got married, things started to shift. He began raising his voice more. Arguing became frequent. Most of it centered around how we raised the kids — he thought I was too soft, and I thought he was too harsh. And maybe we were both right. I tried to compensate for his anger by being extra lenient. I thought I could create balance, but I was really just surviving the chaos.

His tone changed. His words cut deeper. And I started shutting down emotionally. I had a miscarriage a year into our marriage — it broke me. It broke him, too. But in very different ways. I felt like I had failed him. That I had failed us. But looking back now, I think it was God protecting me from something I didn’t yet understand. He wasn’t ready. Not emotionally. Not mentally. Not spiritually. Not for a baby. And not for the weight of fatherhood.

We became distant. We’d go months without intimacy. I didn’t want to be touched. Not because I didn’t want him, but because I was holding so much pain that I didn’t know how to give anymore. And he didn’t know how to receive.

Still… he gave me his checks. He always handed over what he had. He always gave me his last. And I worked. Hard. So many overtime hours just to keep us afloat — especially when he lost jobs or walked away from them. I carried so much, and I think I did it because I wanted to be chosen. I wanted to believe he saw me. I wanted to believe he’d one day give back the kind of love I gave freely, over and over and over again.

He didn’t.

He ruined so many trips with his temper. I have memories of standing in hotel rooms, crying, wondering how something that started out so beautifully had become this. The man who once made me feel like the most special woman in the world — was now the man who made me feel small in moments I needed him the most.

I lost myself. Piece by piece.

And maybe… just maybe… I stayed because I was starving for love. I thought if I just held on tighter, if I just gave a little more — he’d come back to the man I married. But the truth is, I’ve been married alone for a long time. I just didn’t want to admit it.

Now that it’s over, all I have left are memories. Of who he used to be. Of how he used to love me.

And I guess that’s what I’m grieving most…
The version of him that no longer exists — and the version of me that believed it would last forever.

With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.

I Was Strong Enough to Forgive, But He Was Strong Enough to Let Go

It didn’t all fall apart in one moment. Our marriage slowly unraveled over years of hurt, misunderstanding, silence, and trying again. There were small cracks we both ignored, things we brushed under the rug, moments where we lost each other piece by piece and neither of us said a word.

But I kept loving him.

Every time he raised his voice, every time he made me feel invisible, every time he hurt me with words or distance—I still showed up. I forgave him, even when the apology felt hollow or the change didn’t come. I loved him through his flaws, through his temper, through the pain he caused me and my children.

That was my kind of strength.
Loving someone even when it hurt.
Forgiving him even when I was the one bleeding inside.

I stayed. Because I believed we could get through anything. I believed love could carry us. I believed if I gave enough grace, if I held on long enough, he’d meet me there. I thought that’s what commitment meant—staying when it’s hard, not just when it’s easy.

But now… he’s choosing to walk away.

He says he needs space. That he’s not in love with me anymore. That he can’t be the man I need. And as much as it shatters me to hear those words, I realize this is the kind of strength I never saw coming—his strength. Not to fight. Not to stay. But to let go.

And it’s hard to admit, but maybe that kind of strength takes something I never had.

I was always the one holding on. Trying. Believing. Praying.
He was the one who could let go, walk away, and close the door.

I think I always knew deep down this was coming. That no matter how many times I forgave, he wasn’t growing with me. He was growing away from me. I used to think that was a weakness on his part, but now I see it differently. Maybe it takes its own kind of courage to say, “this isn’t working anymore.”

That doesn’t make it hurt any less.

I feel replaced, invisible, and discarded—after all the years I gave, all the love I poured into him and our life. But I also know I gave everything I had. I showed up for our marriage, even when it wasn’t reciprocated. And now, even through the heartbreak, I can say that I stayed soft. I stayed honest. I stayed loyal.

So no… I wasn’t strong enough to walk away first.
But I was strong enough to forgive him over and over again.
Strong enough to believe in us, even when he didn’t.

And that kind of strength matters, too.

It may not have saved our marriage—but it saved me from becoming bitter, from shutting down, from losing myself entirely.

This isn’t the ending I wanted. But it’s the one I have.

And now, it’s my turn to find strength in letting go—not of love, but of the version of love that kept breaking me.

With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.

The Moment I Knew It Was Over

It wasn’t just when he said the words—
“I’m not in love with you anymore.”

It was what came after.
The silence. The lack of warmth. The way he said it with so much certainty and so little emotion. It was the realization that he meant it. That he wasn’t just angry or tired or trying to hurt me. He had made peace with leaving me—and I hadn’t even begun to grieve what I was losing.

That moment didn’t just break my heart.
It shattered everything I thought we still had.

I’ve been sitting with the feeling that I’m unworthy. Unloved. Looked over. Invisible. Like I don’t matter to the one person I built my life around for the last 12 years. I kept thinking I was the one who had fallen out of love years ago, during the rough patches, after the arguments, the yelling, the hurtful words he threw like weapons. But now I know—I never really stopped loving him. Because every single time he broke me, I eventually found my way back to loving him again.

I forgave him after every storm. I let time do the healing. I buried my pain just to keep the peace. I learned how to smile through the chaos. I told myself that it wasn’t as bad as it felt. And I held onto the love I thought we still shared, even if I was the only one still holding it.

Nine years ago, I told him I was leaving. I had reached my breaking point. I said I wanted a divorce because I could no longer tolerate the way he treated me and my children. There was a huge, emotional altercation—no physical harm, but his words cut like knives. We separated. For a little over a month, I tried to find myself again. But then… he came back with promises.

He said all the right things. That he would be different. That he would be better. That we could heal.

And I let him back in.
Because I wanted to believe him. Because I wanted it to work. Because I loved him.

But he didn’t change.
Not for long. Not fully.

And if I’m being honest—neither did I. I adjusted. I tolerated. I made excuses. I kept holding space for him while abandoning myself.

Looking back now, I realize I gave up so much of my power. I wanted to let him lead. I wanted to let him be the man. But he didn’t know how. He thought being a husband meant having control, not being in a partnership. He thought it meant demanding sex when he wanted it, raising his voice when things didn’t go his way, and disengaging from the work that real love requires.

And still, I gave him grace.
Because I thought we were both just learning how to be married.

But here’s what hurts the most: I know he loved me. He just didn’t know how to love me well. And I kept accepting that kind of love because I didn’t want to start over. Because I didn’t want to fail. Because I didn’t think I was strong enough to leave.

But he was.
He is.

He’s ending it now.
Not because I asked him to. Not because we sat down and made a mutual decision. But because he believes he sacrificed too much for me, and he wants his time and space back.

He says he put everyone else before himself. But I put him before me too. I put up with his attitude, his bad behavior, his temper, and his lack of support. I bent so far trying to make things work that I lost myself completely.

And now I’m left with the truth:
He’s choosing himself.
And I have no choice but to do the same.

That was the moment I knew it was over.
Not just the marriage—but the version of me that thought love was supposed to hurt and that I had to earn it.

I’m done hurting.
And I’m ready to heal.

With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.

And This Time… I Chose Me

I didn’t choose the separation. That decision wasn’t mine.

My husband asked for space. He said he wasn’t in love with me anymore. That he didn’t know what the future held—but what he did know, without hesitation, was that he needed to separate. It’s strange how someone can say they love you and still choose to leave. I never imagined that I’d be the one holding on while he slowly let go. I never imagined the man I once believed would always fight for me would be the one walking away.

And yet, here I am—sitting with the reality that this is happening. That the man I built a life with no longer sees that life as one he wants to keep building with me. That he’s made peace with leaving. And I’m still here, trying to make peace with being left.

But what I’m realizing is that this ending didn’t start today, or last week, or even last month. This ending has been unfolding quietly over time. In the distance between us. In the lack of affection. In the moments where his eyes stopped lighting up when he saw me. In the emotional silence that replaced what used to be passion and connection. In the quiet ache that started to feel normal.

Still, I stayed. I hoped. I prayed. I begged. Not out loud all the time—but in the little ways. In every time I softened my voice, every time I ignored the tension, every time I tried to be enough to spark something in him again. I was holding on while telling myself that love could fix what was slowly crumbling underneath us.

But now, I see it. I see that I wasn’t just fighting for him—I was fighting not to lose myself in the heartbreak. I had been slipping away from myself for a long time. I kept shrinking, compromising, making myself small just to feel wanted. I gave him grace. I gave him second chances. I gave him years of my life hoping he’d eventually give me what I’d been giving him—unconditional love.

The hardest part of all of this is knowing that I didn’t want to leave. Even now, I still love him. But this time, I can’t fight for someone who doesn’t want to be fought for. I can’t hold space for someone who’s already made up their mind to walk away. It hurts in ways I didn’t know I could still hurt. It aches deeper than I imagined it would. But for the first time, I’m starting to understand something: maybe this isn’t just him choosing himself—maybe this is God forcing me to choose me.

So here I am. Not because I wanted to be. But because I have to be. I’m choosing me—not in celebration, but in survival. I’m choosing me because if I don’t, I’ll lose what’s left of myself. I’m choosing me because for too long, I’ve been waiting to be chosen by someone else, and I can’t live like that anymore.

This blog—She Chose Herself This Time—was never supposed to exist. But now, it’s the only place I feel like I can breathe. It’s not about being strong. It’s not about pretending I’m okay. It’s about telling the truth of what it feels like to love someone deeply… and watch them stop loving you back. It’s about healing out loud. It’s about being real, even when it’s messy and uncomfortable and raw.

I’m still grieving. I’m still angry some days. I still cry when no one’s looking. But I’m learning to come home to myself again. I’m learning to see value in my own presence, not just the roles I played in someone else’s life. And even though I didn’t choose this chapter, I will choose how I show up in it.

This time, I won’t keep waiting to be enough for someone else.

This time, I chose me.

With love + truth,
💔 Aria Monroe 💗
Healing in real time. Choosing herself on purpose.