Baby Don't Hurt Me... No more

Nearly three years ago, in the throes of the global pandemic, my life unraveled in ways I could scarcely have imagined. I was a dedicated elementary school employee, an ambitious college student pursuing a Bachelor of Arts in Early Childhood Education, and a devoted mother and wife, tirelessly balancing my children’s sporting events with my own demanding schedule. My days were a whirlwind of purpose and passion, driven by a vision of a brighter future.

One of my greatest anticipations was the chance to walk across the stage at my graduation—a milestone that held profound significance, especially since I had missed this rite of passage when earning my Associate of Applied Science in Early Childhood Education and Development. With an exemplary GPA and the finish line of my undergraduate program in sight, I was poised to celebrate this triumph with my loved ones. But the world descended into chaos, and the pandemic extinguished that dream. The cancellation of our graduation ceremony was a bitter blow, a poignant reminder that the sacrifices and sleepless nights I had invested would not culminate in the moment of pride I had envisioned.

Compounding this disappointment was a professional setback that struck at my core. The elementary school where I had poured my heart and soul declined to hire me as a teacher. Devastated, I accepted a role as a paraprofessional at a school for students with behavioral challenges, convinced that a teaching position was out of reach before the academic year began. Yet, resilience prevailed. After tirelessly applying to schools within an hour’s radius, I secured a position as an elementary school teacher—a victory that should have been a pinnacle of joy.

But that same week, my world fractured further. I discovered my husband’s infidelity, a betrayal that had been an open secret among his colleagues for years. The revelation shattered me, tainting what should have been a moment of triumph with profound sorrow. In silence, I filed for divorce, hoping to reclaim my life. Yet, the path forward was fraught with anguish. When my husband learned of the filing, he resorted to threats of suicide, casting a shadow of fear and manipulation over our already fractured home. For ten agonizing months, he remained in our household, as our marriage, our home, and my spirit crumbled.

The aftermath has been a journey of healing marked by setbacks and self-doubt. The confidence I gained from shedding weight through a ketogenic diet eroded as the pounds returned, mirroring the emotional weight I carried. I found myself trapped in a cycle of unhealthy relationships, each one echoing the pain of my past. The trauma of my marriage, compounded by childhood abuse, left me grappling with PTSD and anxiety. My heart yearns for a love that is unwavering and unconditional—a love that prioritizes me, protects me, and cherishes me without reservation. Yet, the fear of further hurt has made me wary of opening my heart again.

Today, I stand at a crossroads, weary of the pain inflicted by those who claimed to love me, yet longing for authentic, enduring connections with those who are whole and healthy. My story, though laden with hardship, is not a plea for pity or understanding. It is a testament to my resilience and a quiet resolve to forge a path toward healing. I seek not to dwell on the past but to cultivate relationships that uplift and sustain me, to rediscover the woman I am, and to embrace a future where love is not a risk, but a refuge.

💕Sam