Letting go of the past is one of the hardest parts of healing after divorce and betrayal, especially when you spent years believing your marriage would last forever.

Sometimes I sit back and think about how different life feels now compared to just a few years ago.

There was a time when I truly believed I might carry anger and bitterness forever. When your world falls apart the way mine did, it can feel like that pain will just live inside you permanently. And honestly, that scared me a little. I didn’t want to be someone who held onto that forever.

It took time, but little by little I started letting go.

Not all at once.
Not in one big moment.
Just slowly.

I let go of him.
I let go of the life I thought we would have.
And maybe the hardest part of all, I let go of the future I had imagined for so many years.

That kind of letting go does not happen overnight. It happens through healing. Through reflection. Through doing the work on yourself even when it hurts.

I never thought I would be able to forgive enough to be cordial with the woman who was part of the end of my marriage. I never imagined I would be willing to meet her face to face. And I want to be clear about something. Forgiveness does not mean friendship. It does not mean trust. It does not mean welcoming people back into your life the way they once were.

It simply means I chose not to carry hate in my heart anymore.

I will never trust my ex-husband again. I will never want him to be part of my life beyond being the father of my children and someone I co-parent with. And I will never be friends with her.

But I can be cordial.

I can be respectful.

And most importantly, I can create an environment where my kids do not feel like they are stuck in the middle of resentment and bitterness.

That mattered to me more than holding onto anger.

I didn’t want to be a bitter mom who hated their dad and spoke badly about him every chance I got. I didn’t want my kids to feel like they had to choose sides or hide their feelings from me.

Because the truth is, they are dealing with their own emotions too.

And if I had stayed angry and closed off, I’m not sure they would feel comfortable opening up to me the way they do now.

I’m proud of how far I’ve come.

Not because I’m perfect. I’m far from that. I see my faults clearly. I know I can be controlling sometimes. I like things done a certain way. My kids remind me of that more often than I’d like to admit.

But I also understand where some of that came from.

When you have three kids in fifteen months, structure becomes survival. My twins were tiny, and then fifteen months later another baby came along. Our life had to run on routine.

Wake up time.
Breakfast.
Morning routine.
Lunch.
Nap at one o’clock.
Snack at three.
Dinner at five thirty.
Bedtime at eight.

Everything had a rhythm because it had to.

And somewhere along the way, that need for order and control became part of who I was. Some of it helped my family. Some of it is something I’m still learning to soften.

But the difference now is that I’m aware of it.

There was a time in my life when I would have said, “This is just who I am.”

Now I say, “Okay, that’s something I can work on.”

Growth does not mean pretending we don’t have flaws. It means recognizing them and choosing to do better.

Another thing I’ve realized lately is how important creativity is for my well-being.

When I was younger, I wrote constantly. I journaled. I wrote poems. Writing was always a place where I could put my thoughts and emotions.

Somewhere between late teenage years and adulthood, I stopped.

Life got busy. I focused on my marriage, my kids, and everyone else’s needs. Years went by without me having a real outlet for the things inside my head and heart.

Sometimes I wonder what might have happened if I had kept writing all those years. Maybe I would have discovered parts of myself sooner. Maybe I would have built something creative earlier in life.

But at the same time, I would never trade the years I spent raising my kids.

Making sure they were loved.
Making sure they were safe.
Making sure they grew into good humans.

That will always matter more to me than anything else.

Now that I’ve opened that creative outlet again, I can feel how necessary it is for me. Writing, reflecting, sharing my story. It gives my thoughts somewhere to go instead of holding them all inside.

It’s a place to lay down my stress.
A place to process life.
A place to be honest.

And maybe the thing I’m most proud of is this.

There was a version of me that could have held onto this forever. A version of me that might have stayed angry and miserable.

But I didn’t let her take over.

I’m not that version of me anymore.

And for that, I’m deeply grateful.

If this reflection resonates with you, explore more of Jenny’s Journey where I share honest thoughts about divorce, betrayal, healing, and rebuilding a life that feels like home.

— Jenny 🤍