• When Love Hurts More Than It Heals

    Self-love after a toxic relationship didn’t come easy for me.

    One of the things my ex used to say to me — almost like a warning — was that I’d never find anyone who would love me the way he did. And I always found that funny, because his love hurt more often than it healed.

    And this isn’t to say all of it was bad. It wasn’t.

    But a lot of it was — more than I was willing to admit while I still had the rose-colored glasses on.

    When they finally came off, I had to face a truth I wasn’t prepared for:

    My entire idea of love was flawed.

    Rebuilding Self-Trust and Choosing Yourself

    I’ve never been loved properly. Not by the people who were supposed to love me first.

    And when you grow up without that foundation, it becomes very easy to cling to anyone who gives you even a sliver of attention.

    That was me for years — clinging, bending, shrinking, hoping someone would finally choose me fully.

    When I became pregnant at 17, I remember thinking, “Finally. Someone is going to love me the way I’ve always needed.”

    And now, at 36, I can admit how unfair that expectation was.

    Our children aren’t here to heal us.

    We are supposed to model love, not chase it from them.

    But I didn’t know that then.

    And honestly, I’m still learning it now.

    For most of my life, I’ve been told I’m “too much.”

    Too loud. Too bubbly. Too emotional. Too deep. Too thoughtful. Too energetic.

    Too me.

    So in my relationships — especially my marriage — I morphed into the woman I thought my partner wanted.

    I muted the parts of me that were too bright, too soft, too enthusiastic.

    But even then, I still wasn’t loved right.

    So now, almost two years after separating, I’m standing in this space between healing and hoping.

    Not sure if real love is something I’ll experience again, but also not willing to pretend I don’t desire it.

    People love to say:

    “Love yourself.” “Put yourself first.” “Self-love is the answer.”

    But nobody talks about what self love after toxic relationship looks like when you feel deeply unlovable.

    So I started small.

    I asked myself two questions:

    Do I even like myself? Do I trust myself?

    At first, both answers were no.

    But once I got honest, I realized something powerful:

    I actually did like myself.

    I just didn’t like the version of me I had been performing for other people.

    So I stopped shrinking.

    I stopped dimming.

    I stopped apologizing for who I am.

    And then I started making decisions that aligned with me.

    Leaving my marriage was the first real act of self-trust.

    Then I admitted I wasn’t happy at my job.

    So I changed it.

    I moved.

    I rebuilt.

    And slowly, self love after toxic relationship became less of an idea and more of a practice.

    People love to say:

    “Love yourself.” “Put yourself first.” “Self-love is the answer.”

    But nobody talks about what self love after toxic relationship looks like when you feel deeply unlovable.

    So I started small.

    I asked myself two questions:

    Do I even like myself? Do I trust myself?

    At first, both answers were no.

    But once I got honest, I realized something powerful:

    I actually did like myself.

    I just didn’t like the version of me I had been performing for other people.

    So I stopped shrinking.

    I stopped dimming.

    I stopped apologizing for who I am.

    And then I started making decisions that aligned with me.

    Leaving my marriage was the first real act of self-trust.

    Then I admitted I wasn’t happy at my job.

    So I changed it.

    I moved.

    I rebuilt.

    And slowly, self love after toxic relationship became less of an idea and more of a practice.

    The Kind of Love I’m Preparing For Now

    Now I’m learning that real love starts with me.

    With trusting myself.

    With liking myself.

    With showing up fully as who I am.

    I’m still figuring it out.

    Still learning the language of what I need.

    But what I know for sure is this:

    I’m no longer preparing for the love I used to accept.

    I’m preparing for the love I finally know I deserve.


    Share Your Story

    What’s one belief about love or self-worth that you’re ready to release?

    And what do you want to replace it with?

    Drop it in the comments — your story might help someone else feel less alone.

  • When Life Feels Different

    Middle motherhood has changed everything for me.

    My big baby came home this weekend.

    Not the first time I’ve seen him since he started college, but the first time he came here, to Delaware, not Brooklyn. And I didn’t expect it to hit me the way it did. Having him in this new space, I’m still trying to turn it into “home,” felt like a breath I’d been holding for weeks.

    Creating a New Home

    If I’m being honest, I’m still on the fence about this move. I love my apartment. I love the ambiance. I love that I’m intentionally decorating, room by room, for the first time in my life.

    Not just placing things, but curating peace.

    I’ve been working on Arius’s room — his bed is up, I bought things for his bathroom, little touches here and there — but I’m still not fully settled. And honestly, I’ve been trying to understand why.

    This weekend, I found my answer: home, for me, has always been where my children are.

    And that’s when it hit me — I’ve officially entered middle motherhood.

    It’s that in-between space where your babies are still your babies, but they’re also grown enough to leave you.

    Where pride and heartbreak live in the same breath.

    Where the house is quiet, and the silence is loud.

    Missing Him

    I’m proud of my son. I love that he’s away at college, figuring out who he is, finding his tribe.

    But I’d be lying if I said it doesn’t hurt.

    I miss him every single day.

    I miss the constant noise, the random hugs, the inside jokes. I miss being needed without question.

    And I realized something during this visit — I don’t know if I truly prepared him for this.

    The first time he got sick on campus, he called me panicked, and I was immediately reminded that I did everything.

    I made the appointments, I ran to the pharmacy, I ordered the soup, I checked the temperature.

    It wasn’t until he didn’t know how to advocate for himself that I understood just how deeply I mothered him.

    Was it love? Absolutely.

    Was it also enabling? Maybe.

    There’s a conundrum in middle motherhood — we want to raise independent, confident adults, yet we never stop seeing them as the little boys who needed us for everything.

    And when they go into the world and stumble, there’s a part of us that whispers, Did I fail him?

    So I overcompensate.

    I hover.

    I call too much.

    I send care packages he didn’t ask for.

    I replay every moment, wondering if I did enough or too much.

    The Truth About Middle Motherhood

    Middle motherhood is confusing like that.

    You’re grieving the version of motherhood you’ve always known while celebrating the version of your child you always hoped for.

    You’re proud and heartbroken.

    Relieved and anxious.

    Rooting for their independence while praying they still need you.

    I’m still figuring it out.

    Still fumbling through the quiet moments when the house feels too still.

    Still catching myself calling just to hear his voice.

    Still reminding myself that this transition isn’t just his — it’s mine too.

    But this weekend reminded me of something I needed to feel in my bones:

    He may outgrow my home, but he will never outgrow my love.

    And maybe that’s what middle motherhood really is:

    Loving them enough to let them go, and loving yourself enough to admit that it hurts.


    If you’re in this stage of middle motherhood, I’d love to hear from you.

    What has been the hardest part of letting go? What surprised you the most?

    Leave a comment below — your story might be exactly what another mom needs to hear.

    With love,
    Treanna

    🩷

  • When Motherhood Feels Like Drowning: The Truth About Single Mom Burnout

    Single Mom Burnout: Life Is Different

    Single mom burnout. I’ve never been here before.

    I’m alone. I’m tired. I’m hanging on by a thread, trying to do everything for everyone and barely keeping my own head above water.

    This time, it feels heavier because I don’t have the support I once did. We’re in a new place, a new space, without a village — not for me, not for my youngest. We’re uninsured, and therapy costs $175 a week — something I just can’t afford right now.

    And I’m struggling.

    I’ve been a mom for almost 18 years. I’ve been a teacher for 15. I know developmentally what kids go through. I know what they need. But none of that makes it easier when it’s your child who’s hurting and you can’t reach them.

    Breaking Generational Patterns in Motherhood

    About ten years ago, I realized I was repeating patterns I grew up with — patterns of invalidation, of being too harsh, of not celebrating my kids the way they deserved.

    I was raised to believe children should be seen and not heard. That I was “too much,” only valuable when I was helping or achieving. I hated that for me, and I promised I would do better for them.

    And I have. I’m conscious. I’m intentional. I show up differently.

    But right now… it just feels like no matter what I do, I’m wrong.

    My son isn’t happy. He says he hates it here. He says he hates his school, that he’s bored, that I ruined his life. And the part that cuts the deepest — he blames me for our family breaking apart.

    One of my greatest fears has always been not being good enough for him.

    Surviving Divorce, Cancer, and Starting Over as a Single Mom

    These past two years have left me hollow.

    I found out my husband was cheating. I walked away from my marriage. I survived a hysterectomy and cancer. I sent my oldest off to college. Then I moved states to start over.

    I’m surviving, but I’m tired. I smile, but I’m hanging on by a thread.

    It’s been loss after loss after loss, and I keep showing up. But some days, it feels like all I do is eat the world’s pain — theirs, his, mine — and I’m just tired of eating shit.

    I want filet mignon. I want a glass of champagne. I want a booty rub on a beach in Jamaica. I want a break.

    But I can’t.

    Right now, I am not only a financial provider, I’m a sounding board. I’m the comfort, who’s going to comfort me?

    The Hard Truth About Single Motherhood

    These are the kinds of nuances that make motherhood so challenging.

    I’m a single mom now, and I hate that for me. I hate that for us. And I know that’s a big part of why these feelings are so heavy.

    It’s hard. It’s so hard.

    And I’m crying as I write this because there’s so much built up inside of me.

    I just want my children — my baby — to be happy. I want him to understand that I made these choices so he can learn the importance of showing up, of how women should be treated, and that I’m not trying to ruin his life even though he feels like I am.

    I know eventually it will be okay because I’ve been through this with my first son, and he’s thriving in college now.

    But going through it once doesn’t make it easier the second time. Every child is different.

    And I just needed to get that out.

    What Motherhood Really Looks Like

    Because this is what motherhood really looks like sometimes — not the filtered version, not the highlight reel.

    It’s the intersection between womanhood and motherhood, where you’re trying to keep everyone else afloat while your own lungs are burning.

    And I’m drowning.

    But the difference is… I know I’m drowning. I can say it out loud.

    To every mother reading this:

    We’ve been trained to believe that because we chose motherhood, our feelings don’t matter.

    That no matter how exhausted, frustrated, scared, or broken we feel, we’re expected to keep showing up — perfectly, silently, endlessly.

    Society doesn’t give us space to breathe. It doesn’t give us permission to grieve the parts of ourselves we lose in the process.

    We’re told therapy is enough, or that we should just “vent” to a friend. But sometimes we don’t have access — therapy is too expensive, friends are overwhelmed themselves, or we simply can’t overburden them.

    Sometimes we just have to get up and go to work, and even that feels impossible under the weight we carry.

    I hate that for us. I truly hate that for us.


    But here’s the thing — acknowledging it matters. Naming it matters. Feeling it, fully, honestly, without guilt, is where the healing begins.

    The woman drowning in motherhood? She has a right to exist. She has a right to be seen. And she has a right to rise again.

    With love,
    Treanna

    🩷

  • Starting Over at 36: Separation, Menopause, Motherhood & Rebuilding My Life

    Starting Over at 36: Separation, Menopause, Motherhood & Rebuilding My Life

    When You Wake Up and Realize Your Life Isn’t What You Thought It Would Be

    One day I woke up and realized I had one kid getting ready for college, the other about to start high school, I hated my job, I was separated, and I was battling these damn hot flashes.

    Like… whose life is this?

    Because it for damn sure ain’t mine.

    Five years ago, if you asked me where I saw myself, I would’ve told you I’d be a homeowner, an assistant principal, preparing my oldest for college, sending my youngest into high school, and putting the finishing touches on my vow renewal ceremony.

    Instead I was picking myself up for the fifth night in a row after another sobbing session.

    Face covered in snot. Wig across the room on the floor.

    And I just kept asking myself:

    Where did my dream life go?

    But if I’m being honest…

    Was it ever really my dream life?


    Admitting I Was Unhappy in My Marriage

    I always knew I wanted to be a mom, a teacher, a wife.

    And technically, I was all of those things.

    But there were other things too.

    The things I ignored.
    The things I forgave.
    The things I looked past.

    I convinced myself that if I just kept showing up as the best version of everything a full-time working wife and mom is supposed to be, things would get better.

    It never really did.

    No matter how much I smiled, faked it, or convinced people I was fine, I wasn’t.

    I had been unhappy for a long time.

    That night on the floor, tears as my only comfort, I finally said the words I’d been avoiding:

    I was unhappy in my marriage.

    And that unhappiness was spilling into every other area of my life.


    Loving Someone for 17 Years and Still Losing the Relationship

    I had been with my love — now my ex — since I was 17.

    By 18, we had our first child.

    We got married, had our second child, and got our first apartment when I was 22.

    I was enamored with him.

    There wasn’t anything I wouldn’t do for that man.

    But this isn’t a post to drag him.

    At least not this one lol.

    This is about acknowledging where I am now.

    It’s been more than a year since our separation in February 2024, and I still miss him.

    His presence.
    Our history.
    The life we built together.

    We had so many good times growing up together and raising our boys.

    I hoped therapy could fix us.

    I hoped we could break the cycle of our parents’ failed relationships.

    But we didn’t.

    Love mixed with hurt.

    Hurt mixed with resentment.

    And eventually we became toxic.

    Toxicity became our love language.

    We broke each other.


    Life After a Long Relationship Ends

    Now I’m a separated single mom raising teenagers and trying to rebuild a life that for so long was tied to someone else.

    And no one really talks about the despair that comes after ending a long relationship.

    The kind where you spent your entire adult life with one person.

    No one talks about how lost you feel.

    How numb.

    How hopeless.

    Especially when the person who was once your comfort was also your pain.

    Even typing this brings tears to my eyes.

    Because at 36 I’m realizing just how much of my childhood trauma followed me into that relationship.

    A broken woman, never fully loved properly, left devastated by a broken marriage.

    The irony.


    Redefining My Life at 36

    And that’s what this blog is about.

    Not perfection.

    Not pretending everything is fine.

    This is the raw, uncut, real story of a woman redefining her life.

    💗 Healing after a 17-year relationship ends
    💗 Navigating motherhood as an almost empty nester
    💗 Transitioning careers and finding joy in the unknown
    💗 Learning how to take better care of myself at 35, post-menopause
    💗 Remembering that none of this stops me from still being a bad bitch

    Because even through the heartbreak…

    I’m still here.

    Still standing.

    Still figuring it out.


    If You’re Also Starting Over…

    If you’re here for the honest, messy, beautiful truth of starting over, I’d love for you to subscribe.

    And if you feel comfortable, drop a comment:

    What’s the wildest thing you’re navigating in your life right now?

    Because the truth is…

    A lot of us are starting over.

    We just don’t talk about it enough.

    We’re in this together.

    🩷

    With love,
    Treanna