For years, I was someone’s wife, someone’s mother, the woman taking care of a family and making decisions around other people’s lives. I had my own name, of course. Yet somewhere along the way, I became much easier to identify by my relationship to everyone else.
I lost my complete identity. I see this pattern everywhere. Men introduce their wives by saying, "my wife," and I always want to ask, "What is her name?" She has one.
She had a life before she became somebody’s wife, and she still has one now. The same thing happens to mothers, daughters, and women who spend decades making themselves indispensable to everyone around them. We become so good at carrying other people that we forget what it feels like to carry ourselves.
I gave up parts of my independence. I gave up pieces of myself because I believed marriage was forever and because I believed love sometimes required sacrifice. I thought adjusting my life around another person was part of making a relationship work.
Looking back, I understand something I wish more women understood earlier: you should never surrender the things that make you feel alive just to be loved. My divorce forced me to face that reality without the comfort of pretending it would somehow fix itself. I could have immediately searched for another man to provide protection, financial security, or the feeling of being wanted.
Instead, I had to ask a much more uncomfortable question: What can I build for myself? It was a question that became especially meaningful when my close friend went through her own divorce in her mid-40s. I watched her suddenly discover parts of herself that had been buried under years of family responsibilities.
Extract — continue reading at the source.
