I didn’t spend playtime as a little girl fantasizing about my wedding. There were too many creatures to catch, adventures to be had, weird side hustles to scheme, and books to read. I was a precocious, ambitious, weird loner kid with a fast brain, poor impulse control, and self-assurance that teetered on pathological.

When I became a teenager and my mom married an explosive rage-monster, my self-esteem took a hit. Suddenly, being accepted by peers felt safer than being alone. Being cool started to matter more than being myself.

I still didn’t dream about my wedding day—but I did start dreaming about being chosen.

At the time, that looked like forming a short-lived R&B group, a short-lived stint in modeling, acting classes, and writing an entire screenplay for Terminator 3 on a dusty typewriter in my bedroom—decades before a real one existed. I felt unloved and unimportant, and I wanted to prove to the world I was neither. So, mattering—in any capacity—took center stage for years.

By the end of high school, I discovered boys. Or rather, I discovered the dopamine hit of being liked, pursued, and praised—despite giving nothing in return. I was a prude who didn’t trust boys as far as I could throw them. Letting a boy so much as kiss me brought on a tsunami of shame. I should know better. They were only after one thing, after all, and I was too smart for that.

But by college, I was dating like everyone else—dating people who weren’t good for me. I fell “in love,” and while I stayed in that relationship for most of college, I still didn’t want to get married. What I did want was for someone to want to marry me.

Which is so totally fucked up.

Yes, it was unhealthy for everyone involved. But I was young. And I had a void. And I had massive abandonment issues. So the unhealed version of me tried to love myself through the love of others. I collected “I love yous” from adoring boyfriends like frat boys collected notches on bedposts. And because my attachment style was AVOIDANT ON METH, I’d lose interest the moment someone uttered I love you in the throes of passion.

Did it fix the void? No. Is it embarrassing in retrospect? Oh, for sure.

(Side note: I stayed friends with 99% of my exes, and I promise you all of them got over me immediately. No twenty-somethings were forever scarred by my stupidity.)

This went on for years and years… until I met the one.

Most of you know the story: my brother died tragically, and I trauma-fled to Italy for grad school. There, I met a hot, wonderful man I fell quickly and deeply in love with. He was the first man I let myself be vulnerable with. The first man I loved so much that being unkind to him—even when he deserved it—felt devastating. I adored him. I wanted to be better for him. And for the first time in my cynical little life, I believed I had met my soulmate. He was my absolute everything. And honestly, in some ways, he probably always will be. I love him, I care about him, I will always care about him.

He said he loved me so quickly. I said it back.

He proposed. I said yes.

We got married. And I felt lucky…so lucky. We loved each other so much that friends gave speeches at our wedding about how we made them believe in love. “He adores you, he’s obsessed with you, you two are perfect together…” Said everyone.

For a many years, things were hard but good, we were managing some family issues and learning to set boundaries but we were happy. We moved from Italy to the US, our careers took off, we traveled, we bought a house, started a family. Things were good. Not perfect—there were issues we were working on just like anyone else—but I believed in us and I knew we would be okay.

In 2019, everything changed. We went from happy and in love, to something entirely different. Like the snap of a finger, we were in a downward spiral. It took me six years to realize that no matter how much therapy I did, or how many books I read, no matter how much I twisted and shaped myself, no matter how much I wanted him…it couldn’t work because I couldn’t do it alone. We would never have the healthy, happy-ever-after I hadn’t even dreamed of until I met him.

We divorced this year.

And it’s been all the things, all the time. Scary. Sad. Grief-inducing. Infuriating. Anxiety-ridden. And some days? Freeing. Overall, I am heartbroken. I love him. I miss him. I probably always will.

I didn’t grow up dreaming of getting married—but I also never imagined I’d be divorced. And yet… here we are. Here I am. Taking it one day at a time. Trying to breathe through it—or at least clumsily stumble through it, messy as it is. And most importantly, I’m trying my best to grow— as a human, a parent, and a woman. I won’t lie: growth is painful. It means listening to my therapist and actually doing what she recommends. It means being honest with myself and with my friends. And most of all, it means being present (which, let’s be real, I’m not always great at) in the discomfort of it all. That’s tricky for someone who’s been dissociating since the eighties.

I’ve learned some big lessons about life and love. Like this one: think of your life as a cupcake. Your friends, family, career, and community? That’s the cake. Your hobbies and passions? That’s the icing. Romantic relationships are just sprinkles. Nice to have—but you don’t need sprinkles to make a fucking cupcake.

We’re taught that romantic love is the most important thing—the one worth sacrificing everything else for. But no one person should ever be your everything for so many reasons even if they’re wonderful. Science backs this up: we can thrive without a romantic partner, but we can’t live long, healthy lives without close friends.

Also? The only way out is through, and we are stronger than we think. Trust your body. The way someone makes you feel is all the information you ever need, no matter how much you love them. We’re taught to second-guess our intuition, to logic our way out of feelings—but the truth is, your feelings are data. Do you feel safe, confident, strong, supported, and joyful around them at least 90% of the time? No? Then that’s all you need to know. It really is that simple.

And above all, trust yourself.