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.