I’m writing this on a Tuesday, and tomorrow I walk into a courtroom and end my marriage.
By the time you’re reading this, it’s done. Signed. Final. Official in a way that feels both overdue and surreal. There’s something strange about existing in both states at once—still married while writing, divorced while posting. It mirrors where I’ve been mentally for a while now, living in the space between endings and acknowledgments, like a scene that’s already wrapped but hasn’t faded to black yet.
The Stories I’m Not Telling (Yet)
I have a four-part series sitting in my drafts about my relationship with my ex-husband. It’s layered, honest, and not particularly gentle, and it says things out loud that I spent a long time swallowing.
It was supposed to go live this Sunday, and it’s not. Because telling the truth and choosing the right time to tell it are two different decisions. Timing matters. Delivery matters. And right now, I’m letting things settle before I open that door publicly, because some stories need the emotional dust to settle before you invite people in to watch the replay.
So Instead…Let’s Talk About This
I’m done dating.
And yes, I hear how that sounds, especially considering the timing. This realization hit me three days before my divorce is even finalized—three days before I’m technically “free.” The irony isn’t lost on me, but I’ve been mentally out of my marriage for far longer than that.
There’s a difference between legal timelines and emotional ones, and mine has been running on its own chaotic schedule for a while now. Like two clocks in the same room that refuse to sync no matter how many times you reset them, both technically correct but never aligned in a way that feels usable.
The In-Between Phase No One Talks About
After the separation, there was this stretch of time that doesn’t get talked about enough. It wasn’t together, but it also wasn’t fully apart, and that gray area is where things get complicated in ways you can’t really explain to people who haven’t lived it.
We were still coexisting in ways that didn’t make sense from the outside—sharing responsibilities, navigating proximity, untangling logistics while still emotionally tangled. It wasn’t clean or clearly defined. It was just…in-between, and it had a way of stretching longer than it should have.
If you’ve ever lived in that space, you know how disorienting it is. It feels like standing in a doorway for too long, not fully inside but not outside either, waiting for something to push you one direction or the other while you slowly realize no one is coming to make that decision for you.
The Moment I Thought I Was Ready
Somewhere around the new year, something shifted—or at least I thought it did. I convinced myself it might be time to see what was out there, to step back into something that looked like normal life and pretend I hadn’t just spent months quietly dismantling mine.
Looking back, that version of me wasn’t wrong, but she was early. There’s a difference between being healed and being tired of hurting, and I think I confused the two for a minute there. It felt like stepping onto a set before the lighting was done and assuming the scene was ready just because the script existed.
The Dating App Experiment
Let me just say this—I hate dating apps.
It feels like searching for a needle in a haystack, except half the haystack is on fire and the other half is lying about their height. I remember asking my therapist if the kind of man I actually want is even on a dating site, because at some point it starts to feel like you’re filtering through versions of the same person with different bios.
She told me she’d like to think my counterpart is out there somewhere. Let’s remember that word—counterpart—for later.
I tried Hinge, Bumble, and Hily. Bumble was a quick no, so I scrapped that almost immediately. I talked to a couple people on Hinge, then eventually just committed to Hily and called it a day, mostly because decision fatigue is real and I didn’t have the energy to curate multiple versions of the same conversation.
At one point, I was juggling several conversations at once, trying to figure out what felt natural and what felt forced, what had potential and what was just passing time dressed up as possibility.
The One That Felt Different
One of those conversations turned into something a little more real.
For the sake of privacy, we’ll call him Patrick. He’s a single dad with a steady job, which already set him apart in ways that mattered to me. There was a sense of responsibility there, a kind of structure that felt grounded instead of chaotic.
But there were logistical challenges from the start. He lived over an hour away, and our schedules were almost completely opposite. That kind of distance isn’t just about miles—it’s about timing, availability, energy. It’s trying to build something in the gaps instead of in shared space, and that adds pressure whether you acknowledge it or not.
When Intensity Isn’t Enough
It didn’t take long for things to pick up speed. Conversation was easy, chemistry was there, and there was a natural pull that made it feel like we skipped a few steps without even trying. I met that energy, too. It wasn’t one-sided, and I won’t pretend it was.
But intensity doesn’t equal stability.
We weren’t clashing in obvious, dramatic ways, but we were consistently brushing up against each other’s triggers. Small moments carried more weight than they should have, and reactions felt bigger than the situation called for. Not because either of us were trying to hurt the other, but because we were both still carrying things that hadn’t fully settled yet.
That kind of dynamic gets heavy fast. It turns something that feels exciting into something that feels like work, and not the kind of work that builds something—more like the kind that drains it.
So I stepped away.
Not because it meant nothing, and not because I didn’t care, but because I could see where it was heading if I didn’t. That doesn’t make it easy to walk away from, though. Awareness doesn’t cancel out attachment, it just makes you responsible for what you do with it.
Rebound Energy (If We’re Being Honest)
Shortly after I called it off with Patrick, I downloaded Tinder.
Yes. Tinder.
I wasn’t looking for anything real. If I’m being honest, I just needed to be told I was pretty. That’s it. No deeper intention, no long-term vision. I was sad, a little bruised, and apparently my coping mechanism was outsourcing validation to strangers on the internet like it was a temporary prescription.
Quantity Over Quality (Briefly)
I matched with three guys.
The first scratched that itch for about a millisecond before realizing I wasn’t going to put out and disappearing just as quickly as he showed up. Efficient, if nothing else.
The second was fun to talk to about the Red Wings, but that was about it. Hockey? Great. Anything else? Dead air. I’d try to shift the conversation and it would just…flatline in a way that made me realize how much I value depth, even in something casual.
The third one caught my attention.
Counterpart Energy (Yeah, I’m Saying It)
This is where I circle back to that word.
Counterpart.
Not in some abstract, soulmate, written-in-the-stars way, but something more grounded than that. Someone in a similar place. Same chapter, different book. Someone who understands the terrain without needing a map drawn for them.
That’s what made it feel different.
There was a level of understanding that didn’t need to be explained, and that kind of ease stands out when you’ve spent enough time over-explaining yourself. It wasn’t about impressing each other or trying to fit into something—it just felt like recognition.
Comfy, of All Things
What stands out the most when I think back on it isn’t even the intensity.
It was how easy it felt.
Not forced. Not overthought. Not something I had to constantly check or question. Just comfortable in a way that didn’t feel boring, which is rare when you’re used to equating chaos with chemistry.
We kept it light. Called it what it was—cuddle buddies. No pressure, no big declarations, no pretending it was something it wasn’t. And maybe that’s why it caught me off guard, because somewhere in that space, without making a big deal out of it, I started to actually like him.
Not in a loud, overwhelming way. Nothing dramatic. Just enough to notice when it was gone.
Where Did You Go?
We had plans. A movie night. Something simple, low-pressure, very on brand for what it was.
There was no indication anything was wrong. No shift in tone, no weird energy, no slow fade to prepare me for it. Just…silence, in a way that felt abrupt and unfinished.
Like the scene cut before anyone explained the ending.
The Math Doesn’t Math
That’s the part that stuck with me.
Not because we knew each other for a long time, and not because it was some deep, established relationship. It wasn’t either of those things.
But because of how it felt.
Because of how easy it had been. How natural. How comfortable.
So now I’m sitting here, on the edge of officially ending a marriage, asking myself a question I didn’t expect:
Why does this hurt more?
Not in a dramatic, life-altering way, but in that quiet, sharp way that catches you off guard when you thought you were handling everything else just fine. Because logically, it doesn’t make sense.
But feelings don’t really care about logic.
So, I’m Done
That’s where I landed, and not in a dramatic, burn-it-all-down kind of way. It was quieter than that, more like a realization that settled in and refused to leave once it showed up.
Not because what I’m looking for doesn’t exist—if anything, this proved the opposite. It showed me that what I want is real, and that it can exist in a way that feels natural instead of forced.
But it also reminded me of something I wasn’t fully ready for.
My heart is still intact, which means it’s still capable of being broken. Not in some catastrophic way, but in those smaller, sharper ways that linger longer than they should.
And right now, I don’t feel the need to keep putting it out there just to see what happens. There’s a difference between being open and being available for anything, and I think I’m finally starting to understand that line.
If something is meant to continue, it won’t need to be forced.
Some things just…find their way back when they’re supposed to. Hopefully. 🫶
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