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.