I’ve typed and deleted this sentence more times than I can count. Almost a year ago, I made one of the toughest, bravest, and most life-changing decisions of my life: I opened up to my best friend about divorcing my husband of nearly 11 years. In that moment, I knew I had opened a can of worms—there was no turning back. From February through May, I played every possible scenario over and over in my mind. I have two of the most incredible kids—a son who was six at the time and a daughter who was three. I knew the odds were stacked against me as a single, Hispanic, Catholic woman living in Salt Lake City, UT. But where do you turn for guidance in moments like this?
Of course, I turned to my family. I first broached the subject with my parents, awkwardly trying to blame it on a friend couple I knew. I asked for their opinions while trying to appear nonchalant, but mentally, those three months were draining in ways I couldn’t have imagined. Looking back, that was just the beginning. My parents knew my marriage was struggling, my sister knew, and I couldn’t hide behind the “perfect” persona any longer. I was exhausted—mentally, physically, and spiritually. We celebrated my daughter’s birthday out of town, just the four of us, and I soaked in every single memory I could—every laugh, every smile, every little detail—knowing that soon, everything was going to change.
The days leading up to asking for a final separation were filled with intense back-and-forth, heavy arguments, and more pain than I thought I could bear. I stayed at my parents’ house, kept the kids from him, and crawled into a hole of despair. To make matters worse, my older sister—my only sibling—moved out of state. I had hit rock bottom. I don’t want to go into the details of the divorce itself, but I want to emphasize this: only you can turn a painful, negative situation into a transformative, positive experience.
By the time I was ready to ask, I had spent months mentally preparing myself. I asked twice—once, my feelings were dismissed; the second time, I stood my ground. I knew I had the support I needed, and deep down, I knew I had been unhappy for years. The fact that my husband had no idea how unhappy I truly was astonished me—I had masked it so well that the person who should have known me best had no clue.
I wish I could remember all of my emotions from that time. I was on autopilot—pulling my kids through each day, dragging myself forward, and watching my life unravel. I knew that at the end of the day, the only person who could pull us out of that dark stage was me. So, I went to work. Each morning, I set my intentions, figured out what I wanted to accomplish, and mapped out how I was going to get through the day.
Some days, I allowed myself to sit with my emotions. I had really bad days, and I had really good ones, sometimes both in the same day. On tough days, I gave myself permission to step back, sleep, and listen to what my body needed. It wasn’t easy, and it still isn’t. I’ve begged and pleaded with the universe to erase the arguing, the pain, and the rawness. I’ve spent countless moments in my shower, sobbing under the hottest water, letting it all out.
But since May, I’ve grown more than I ever imagined possible. I may not be the “fun, carefree, cool” mom I once was, and that’s okay. What I do have is inner peace, confidence, and a happiness that comes from within. My bond with my children has deepened, and they inspire me every single day to be my best self. I look into my son’s eyes and push myself to model confidence and independence. I look into my daughter’s eyes and strive to show her a woman who can do it all while staying true to her emotions.
Building myself up while maintaining a stable, healthy, and consistent environment for my kids is not always easy. It can feel isolating, exhausting, and overwhelming. But at the end of the day, it’s for them, and it’s for me. I’ve learned that even in the darkest, most challenging moments, there’s a way to turn pain into growth, heartbreak into strength, and chaos into something beautiful.
