From Broken To Empowered

My Journey of Healing, Love, and Rediscovery

10/16/2024

I flip the timer and start writing.
Today, I feel very called to tell my story. When McFeely asked me to share it yesterday, I took notice of the pieces I have truly let go of—pieces of trauma that used to stand as life pillars but have since crumbled as I’ve healed. What’s left now are the fragments that have sculpted the firepit for my fire to burn inside.

These are the pieces that, even after the healing is long completed, will always be the reason my purpose exists.

The eldest of two children, I grew up in what I thought was a modern-day fairytale family. I was raised strict Catholic, with parents who have since become more progressive but still practice strict Catholicism.

I got married on my 30th birthday, and when we came home from the honeymoon two weeks later, I returned with someone I didn’t recognize. Things were different. To keep a long story short, I spent eight years and birthed two children inside an extremely volatile and toxic marriage. He never hit me, but I used to pray that he would because then I knew I could leave. By the time I finally got out, I was so broken that I couldn’t make eye contact with a cashier at Target.

I don’t think anyone realized how much of myself had ceased to exist at that point—how empty, broken, and worthless I felt inside. They looked at my shell, the reflection that bounced back in the mirror, and saw a tired mom and business owner. I think a lot of how broken I was got overlooked and explained away because I was a young mom, who owned a fitness studio and was going through a divorce. Who wouldn’t be tired? Who wouldn’t be sad? I don’t think anyone knew how much deeper it went.

I was broken.
I felt worthless.
I was empty inside.

I remember telling my therapist at one point, “I’m dead inside, and I like it that way. No one ever needs to touch me again, and I will never again get into a relationship.”

I moved the kids and me back into my parents’ house. I don’t even know if anyone realized I wasn’t in a position to take care of my kids on my own. I focused on healing—day in and day out—healing myself. And ever so slowly, I began to find the sparkle again. People began to notice that I was coming back to life after almost a decade of being gone.

In December of 2022, I went to a networking event where I met the first man in years I found myself attracted to. He took me on an incredible first date, and a few days later, he rocked my world with the best sex I had ever had. I was 40 years old and had no idea it could feel like this.

A week and a half later, we parted ways as he desperately wanted kids, and I can’t have any more. I was devastated. I finally felt something I hadn’t felt in such a long time, and just like that, it was gone. To be honest, my reaction was over the top in devastation—to the point that the logical me knew it had nothing to do with him. This was about me.

That’s when this box of trauma from way back in the closet, covered in cobwebs, showed up. I opened it up, and it was filled with sexual and religious trauma from my college days.

There was a lot to work through and make sense of, and I discovered that this box of trauma was keeping me from truly knowing myself. It directly conflicted with my deepest desires, leading me to believe those desires determined my character. Shame was so intertwined with sex that I couldn’t separate it at all. But I knew that I had to.

A few weeks later, my best friend, a photographer, told me she was receiving a large influx of inquiries surrounding kink and wanted to learn more. So she asked me to join FET with her. I was blown away when I got on the site, began digging around, and learning. I started messaging people from all over the world, interviewing them, asking questions, and learning.

It was there that I met AC. We started chatting; he lived four hours away. We picked a weekend, and he traveled up to see me. We learned that we were in the same space in life—conservative Christian upbringings, lots of shame and judgment, little experience, and big desires for exploration.

It didn’t take long for us to begin chatting daily, comparing notes, and realizing we had built a friendship and trust that felt comfortable. Knowing we could push the limits further with someone we trusted, we agreed to do just that.

It was never supposed to be a relationship. In reality, it was only ever supposed to be a one-night stand. But as time went on, things between us grew. Together we began exploring kinks, fantasies, clubs, parties, swaps, and more. Before we knew it, he had keys to my apartment and was meeting my kids. I fell. Hard.

I truly believed in my heart of hearts that I would spend forever with him. I can honestly say that I am certain I had never experienced love in its purest form before him.

He brought me back to life. We taught each other what a healthy relationship was. He was the first person ever to lovingly and respectfully put me in my place. He called me out on my bullshit, and I called him out on his.

We grew together at cosmic speeds—communication, boundaries, insecurity, jealousy, honesty, safety, fear—we started healing all of it. He taught me how to step outside of codependency. How to trust myself and gave me the courage to stop seeking approval.

I was anxious. He was avoidant. And yet, it worked. It was far from perfect, and at times it was heavy. Really, really heavy.

At the end of the day, we both knew that the next step in our journeys didn’t include us being together.

I can see that from a bird’s-eye view. I can see the leaps and bounds I’ve grown since he left—knowing full well it couldn’t have happened if he stayed.

We left things on good terms. I don’t have one bad thing to say about that man, and moving on has been harder than I care to admit. It was hard for many reasons, but one of the biggest was that I let my ego get in the way.

My family hated him. They told me he wasn’t good for me and it wouldn’t work, and I desperately didn’t want them to be right. They hated him simply because, as he brought me back to life, he led me out of codependency with my family and helped me build boundaries. When you begin building boundaries in places where they have never before existed, people don’t like it.

He gave me the courage to stand up for myself and to live on terms completely different from what anyone in my family was familiar with. The backlash my family dealt out was harsh. I have since gone no contact with everyone except my parents and one cousin.

He doesn’t get all the credit for bringing me back to life—I had to put in the work. But he does get credit where it’s due. For showing me how a safe space looks and feels. For showing me what it really means to be loved.

I can almost keep the tears in check when I think about him now.

The hardest thing I’ve found is this: I think back to who I was becoming when we were together, and I can think of so many moments that make me cringe.

You see, I wasn’t yet the person I wanted to be, and I never quite got there until after we split. So he never got to see me get to the finish line.

I notice that I have a hard time forgiving myself for that still, while at the same time I have fully forgiven him for all his mistakes and shortcomings—because we absolutely both had them.

I had to learn that the length of a relationship doesn’t define its success. It was almost exactly one year start to finish, and I would label it the most transformative and successful relationship I have ever been a part of.

I don’t know what happens from here, but I do know this:

I like the person I am today. I know my worth. I know who I am. I know that to some, I am a villain. To others, I’m a hero. And to many, I’m nobody.

I know that I am building a fucking empire, and I absolutely will not settle, nor will I apologize.