It felt like once I started falling into postpartum depression and anxiety, everything else including my relationship started to fall with it. I was already drowning at work, and then life just kept piling on. When the accounts payable manager left, I suddenly had to take on their full-time role on top of my responsibilities as an executive assistant. I was exhausted, stretched thin, and quietly breaking down.
Somewhere in the middle of trying to hold it all together, I started fighting for myself, for my boundaries I was just creating and I fought hard. But at the time, my boyfriend wasn’t really hearing me. I didn’t realize it then, but I was just becoming angry. I remember being petty, thinking, “Fine, I’ll just play the same game.” And I did.
Our relationship went through so much in that season. We went through so much in the last year. Looking back now, I can see that my boyfriend didn’t really know how to help. He was just trying to show up the best way he knew how at the time. And honestly, we’ve come such a long way since then.
Because healing changes everything.
Not just you but the way you love, the way you communicate, the way you see each other, and the way you show up.
Nobody really prepares you for that part…For what it feels like to heal next to someone who’s also trying to figure themselves out. For how love starts to look different when you both begin to unlearn old patterns and try to build something softer, something real.
There have been moments where it’s exhausting, both of us doing our own inner work, trying to be better for ourselves, for each other, and for our son who’s learning through our actions — yet still bumping into the same walls. Some days, we’re in sync. Other days, it feels like we’re on different pages of the same book, just trying to meet in the middle again.
I used to think healing together meant we had to grow at the same pace. Side by side, all the time. But now I’ve realized it doesn’t always look that way. Not at all. Sometimes healing happens quietly, in separate moments. In reflection. In anger. In space. In time. And that’s okay.
I’ve learned that love doesn’t mean being perfect or healed all at once. It means showing up. Trying again. Listening better. Softening a little more.
We’ve had to relearn how to talk to each other… not from defensiveness or fear, but from understanding. To say, “Hey, I’m struggling right now,” instead of shutting down. To ask for a hug instead of pretending I’m fine. And truthfully, it’s still a work in progress.
At first, I was so angry I didn’t realize how my actions were affecting our relationship. But the more I’ve reconnected with myself, the more I’ve been able to show up differently for Chris. Not from an empty place, but from a fuller one.
When I slow down and take care of me, it changes everything. There’s more patience. More grace. More laughter sneaking back in.
Healing as a couple isn’t a perfectly aligned journey. It’s two people trying, some days getting it right, some days missing each other completely but still choosing to come back. Still choosing to learn.
And that’s been the most healing part for me: realizing we’re both growing — individually, but still together.
It’s not always pretty. It’s not always easy.
But it’s honest. It’s real. And it’s ours.
Because healing isn’t about going back to who we were — it’s about becoming who we’re meant to be, both individually and together. It’s giving each other the grace to do so. 🤎✨
