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.