Even Naked, I Stand

“It is my safe nest. I am afraid it will be destroyed,” I said, tears streaming down my face.

He hugged me warmly and said, “This is my safe nest too, baby. How stupid do you think I am to destroy it?”

He offered the familiar assurances I had heard hundreds of times. He told me how much he loved me. He expressed how lucky he was to have me. My heart swelled. I felt reassured. Any small doubts vanished without a trace.

I believed I was lucky.
So lucky—to have this marriage, this love, this trust, this safety.

And then he destroyed the safe nest.

Not gently.
Not slowly.
He crushed it ruthlessly.

And somehow, the blame was placed on me. The entire burden of shaping his life into what he wanted was laid at my feet. When it failed, I was the culprit.

I couldn’t believe this was happening.
Happening to me, of all people.

I tried everything to hold it together. I begged. I twisted myself into someone I wasn’t. I promised I would do anything. Each attempt killed a small part of me and still, nothing was enough.

Fear came first. How would I survive this? How would I raise two children? How would I provide for them?

Then came shame—loud and unforgiving. Confusion followed. Then anger—at him, but more at myself for not seeing it sooner.

As the legal process unfolded and messages slowly turned into insults, my heart broke a little more each day. I still longed for the person who had made me feel safe. I couldn’t even bring myself to curse him. I couldn’t bear anyone speaking badly of him.

That was when my two strongest pillars held me up: my mother and my sister. When I could not stand, they stood for me. When I could not see a way forward, they reminded me that I had already survived worse.

In my community, divorce is rare. In my family, I would be the first. I knew I would be talked about, judged, pitied, analyzed. Some would feel sorry for me. Some would quietly enjoy the spectacle. I was sure I would feel exposed and diminished.

When the news went out, I braced myself. And then I did something I never thought I could do. I showed up. I walked into gatherings with my truth intact. When asked where he was, I answered honestly.

There were those who came to offer sympathy, and I could sense how satisfying it was for them. Some rushed to help without being asked. I declined their help. It was not out of pride but because that was not the help I needed.

And then there were the few who were truly there for me. They cried with me, consoled me, and showed up whenever I needed them. They made me feel their faith that I would get through this.

I was ready to release anyone who no longer wanted me in their life, but most chose to stay.

At one point, I felt stripped bare in front of everyone. Ashamed. Afraid. Small. I wanted to disappear.

And then I realized something I hadn’t allowed myself to see before: I was beautiful even naked. Perhaps even more so. I could stand straight, walk with pride, and let the world admire the work of art that I am.

That realization reshaped me.

The same people who once looked at me with pity began to look at me with respect. The question shifted from What will she do now? to Look at how she’s doing. The story stopped being about what broke me and became about what I built from it.

I still carry the scar of that wound. I still grieve the trust that was broken. I still mourn the love I thought I had.

But none of that stops me from living the life I choose now.

Not carefully.
Not quietly.
But fully.