inspired writing Tuesdays--what moving on looks like

 

Happy Tuesday, friends! I've been feeling inspired to write lately, so I want to start sharing some of that here. I hope you enjoy today's post, and the ones I have planned to come in the following weeks. Happy reading! Feel free to leave me your thoughts or suggestions at the end of today's post. Some of you gave some suggestions last week, and I heard you! Thanks for that, and please keep it up. Today, at the suggestion of Debbie, I'm writing about what moving on looks like for me. I hope you enjoy!

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Moving on after an unwanted divorce isn't a single moment; it's a long, uneven becoming. It starts quietly, almost invisibly. With mornings when when getting out of bed feels like an act of bravery. With nights when you learn how to sit with the silence that used to have someone's voice in it. You didn't want this chapter, but somehow you're living in it fully, line by line.

You learn that grief isn't just sadness; it's confusion, anger, loneliness, and the ache of remembering a life you thought was permanent. It's the betrayal of watching something you poured yourself into crumble without your consent. It's the bewildering—often overwhelming—isolation of having to rebuild a world you didn't choose to break. 

But then, slowly, something starts to shift. 

You begin to understand that healing isn't forgetting the marriage or pretending the hurt never happened. It's learning to look at your reflection and recognizing the woman who survived it all, a woman who didn't walk away—who was forced to let go—and still find a way to stand up again anyway.

Moving on looks like rediscovering the person you were always meant to be, finding pieces of yourself that you'd forgotten. It looks like choosing hope even when it feels fragile. It looks like giving yourself permission to dream again—not the old dreams, but new ones shaped by clarity, courage, and a deeper understanding of your own worth. It looks like doing the things that you've always wanted to do, yet somehow talked yourself out of because of the person you once had to be. 

It feels like seeing the world with new eyes, and being thankful for where you are right now. It's about loving and appreciating the people that God has put into your life that you've had to lean on, family members who have supported you, and friends you've trauma bonded with. It feels like fully learning to trust and rely on God during the hardest, and scariest times of your life and not knowing how it will all turn out—but also feeling that deep inner peace of knowing that it will all somehow work out in whatever way that will be best. 

And eventually, it looks like realizing that the life you're stepping into wasn't the consolation prize. It's the life you built with your own resilience. The life that waited for you on the other side of heartbreak. The life where you can finally exhale and say, "I didn't want this, but I'm becoming someone I'm proud of."

That is what moving on after an unwanted divorce looks like—not erasing the past, but rising from the ashes of what once was. Not being unbroken, but choosing to grow anyway. And discovering, day by day, that your story isn't over. It's simply unfolding in a new direction, one that has room for joy, connection, and love you never imagined you'd get to feel again. 

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Thanks for being here to read my blog today, friends. Love to all. 

Jenn