Anxiously Unfiltered

Hi mama,

First things first: I’m really sorry you’re here. This is not a club anyone signs up for, and yet—here you are. Whether you made the decision to end your marriage or it was made for you, the result is the same: your world cracked open, and now you’re standing in the middle of the mess trying to figure out what just happened.

Let me say this clearly, before we go any further: you are not alone. Not in the shock. Not in the grief. Not in the “How is this my life?” spiral that hits at 2:13 a.m. when everyone else is asleep and your thoughts are doing CrossFit.

Whatever stage of grief you’re in—denial, anger, bargaining, ugly crying in the shower, or all of the above before breakfast—it’s valid. There is no timeline. Healing is not a productivity task. You don’t get a gold star for “moving on quickly.” You get through this in your own time, and however long that takes is exactly how long it takes.

The Part No One Warned You About

You’ll cry yourself to sleep more times than you’d like to admit. You’ll feel overwhelmed by the fact that suddenly everything is on you—every decision, every bill, every permission slip, every emergency contact form where you stare at the paper thinking, “Cool cool cool… so I’m just writing my own name twice now?”

You’ll grieve the life you thought you were building.

The family. The home. The holidays that looked perfect in your head. The vacations. The financial stability. The version of adulthood where things were supposed to feel secure and settled.

Instead, here you are—trying to manage a household on one income when it feels downright impossible to survive on one paycheck and still give your kids a sense of normal. Rent is outrageous. Mortgages are terrifying. Leaving a home you built for your children can feel just as impossible as staying. It’s exhausting. It’s unfair. And yes—you’re allowed to be angry about it.

And Now for the Plot Twist

As depressing as this chapter feels, there is a bright side. I know—eye roll. Stay with me.

You have just been handed something rare and powerful: a rebrand.

That’s right. This is your accidental, unwanted, emotionally devastating—but oddly freeing—relaunch.

You get to be you, version 2.0.

You don’t have to ask for approval. You don’t have to explain your choices. You don’t have to cater to anyone else’s moods, expectations, or opinions.

You can try new things. Meet new people. Say yes more than you say no (within reason—we still need sleep). You have no idea who you might meet along the way. Friend. Mentor. Love interest. Plot twist character you didn’t see coming.

Yes, you still have kids to take care of. This is not an Eat, Pray, Love situation where you disappear to Italy. But your kids don’t need a perfect mom—they need a happy one. And they are going to love watching this new version of you come alive.

For Right Now, Though

Right now? Cry.

Grieve. Feel sorry for yourself. Cancel plans. Sit on the couch longer than usual. Give yourself some damn grace.

You’ve been through a trauma, even if no one labeled it that way.

But when you’re ready—and only when you’re ready—dust yourself off. Put on the outfit that makes you feel like yourself again. Get your hair done. Paint your nails. Show up for you. Show up for your kids.

Because one day, sooner than you think, you’re going to look back at this version of yourself and think, Wow. She survived that.

You can’t wait to meet yourself a year from now.

She’s stronger. She’s lighter. She’s proud of herself. And she’s doing things she never imagined she could.

I feel you. I’m with you. I’m proud of you.

Love, Your new single mom bestie 💛