Freedom Doesn't Always Look Like Happiness
People sometimes imagine freedom as a celebration.
Music.
Travel.
A new house.
A dramatic fresh start.
But mine looked different.
It looked like sitting alone at a kitchen table.
It looked like crying when I found my husband's old coffee mug.
It looked like sleeping badly.
It looked like learning how to make decisions alone.
And it also looked like realizing I didn't have to live in fear of disappointing anyone.
My husband was gone.
That pain wasn't going away.
But I was still here.
And I was going to live the rest of my life on my own terms.
