Two years ago today, I packed my bags and walked away from my marriage—one of the most painful chapters of my life. I still remember the weight of that moment. I recorded a video as I left the apartment where I once believed I’d build a life full of joy and laughter. Instead, it had become a place where I’d collapse onto the floor, gasping for air between sobs, trying to survive the nights.

The hardest goodbye wasn’t to my ex—it was to my little pup. He was my saving grace. On the days I felt like giving up completely, his love anchored me. As I cried and packed, he watched me silently, knowingly. Every glance from him shattered me further. Leaving him behind was a pain I never imagined I’d endure, and it still aches today—one of those wounds I’ve learned to compartmentalize just to carry on.

I used to dream of becoming a mother, and letting go of him felt like losing the only child I might ever have.

But then something strange and beautiful happened.

As I walked out the door with tears clouding my vision and my soul in pieces, a monarch butterfly appeared. It circled me again and again, as if trying to speak. It followed me to my car, refusing to leave. I took a video because it felt… divine. Later I learned monarch butterflies symbolize transformation, rebirth, and new beginnings.

In that moment, I felt seen by the universe. Held. Reminded that maybe this wasn’t the end—maybe it was a beginning.

Since that day, I’ve noticed monarchs show up every time I feel broken or lost. Like quiet whispers from above saying, keep going.

I won’t lie and say healing was linear. I spiraled. I numbed myself with alcohol, tried to find comfort in meaningless intimacy, and let anger eat away at my softness. But even in the chaos, there was a tiny voice growing louder inside me—learn to love yourself.

And so I did.

I started dating myself. I stopped giving away pieces of me to people who hadn’t earned them. I slowed down and began seeing myself clearly.

I’m the kind of woman who opens the door for others.

Who makes the bed after a sleepover.

Who does the laundry and folds it for both of us.

I’m the kind of woman who puts others’ pain before her own.

Who forgives, even when it hurts.

Who tries to heal those who broke her.

I’m rare.

And I finally believe that.

Some have called me a unicorn. Unique. One of a kind. For a while, I brushed those words off. But now I know they were right. The way I love is rare. The heart I have is rare. I just had to love me the way I love everyone else.

These days, I find joy in little things. I’ve learned to live, not just survive. To find beauty in imperfection. To forgive the past. And most importantly, to heal.

Life isn’t always easy. But it’s still so beautiful.

If you’re going through an ending, I want you to remember—some endings are really just the beginning of you.