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.