So about that book
Downplaying Her Involvement
To recap, she wrote a book, and in it said that my ex-husband reached out to her first. I believe that. I have no trouble believing it. He always needed outside validation and attention.
I don’t.
I’ve always been secure in myself. That isn’t arrogance. It’s self-acceptance. Love me or hate me, it doesn’t change how I feel about myself. The only person I compete with or seek approval from is me.
She also wrote that she told him nothing should happen until he “wrapped up his loose ends,” meaning me. It’s her way of signaling to readers that she tried to take the high road.
But her blog and Instagram told a different story.
She was Facebook friends with both of us. She knew we were together. She stayed connected to my page for months after we split, despite the fact that she and my ex were already dating. That alone says more than her book ever could.
I assume she stayed connected to monitor what I was posting. Maybe to share it with him. Maybe to build a fantasy around whatever story he was feeding her, layered with the curated version of my life she saw online.
But pictures and posts only tell a flat truth. People see what they want to see.
So she swooped in. Ready to rescue him. Ready to be the one who truly understood him. Ready to risk it all.
It’s a tale as old as time. The husband turns the wife into the villain. The other woman believes him. They talk. They bond. He leaves.
She thought she saved him.
She thought she was the exception.
She didn’t.
She wasn’t.
When Fantasy Collides With Reality
I pieced together that he ended our marriage so they could be together. The day after they met in person, within a day to a week or so after we split, they were already calling each other boyfriend and girlfriend. That alone suggests they had been talking long before.
She wrote about their early courtship and described an early fight that same month. He took another woman’s number right in front of her at a bar, brushed it off, and left her drunk and crying on a street in Venice.
That moment set the tone.
Her writing revealed that it became a recurring pattern in their relationship: a cycle of conflict, confusion, and reunion, with highs and lows that typically do not appear so early in a new relationship.
As much as I disliked her role in the end of my marriage, that part stopped me cold. Not because I felt vindicated, but because I wished someone in her life had told her to leave him. Honestly, I would have.
He was never Prince Charming. I would never say that about anyone. But he never behaved like that with me. We didn’t fight that way. He didn’t curse at me. Didn’t take other women’s numbers in front of me at least. Our marriage was calm in that regard.
She accepted behavior from a man she barely knew that should have been a dealbreaker. I assume she felt special. Chosen. He chose her over his wife.
They weren’t some soul-aligned, universe-ordained couple, no matter how much they tried to dress it up that way. That narrative falls apart when you look at how messy it was, and how messy it stayed, according to her own account.
It wasn’t destiny.
It was damage.
He had just ended a thirteen-year relationship with me. He jumped straight into something new.
That isn’t love. That’s a rebound.
Their relationship was full of jealousy, insecurity, constant fights, breakups, and reconciliations, all while he was still divorcing me. He was never worth it.
Did I need to read her book? No. But I wanted to.
It gave me clarity. Not satisfaction. Not joy. Just clarity.
They weren’t a great love story. They weren’t twin flames or soulmates or divine timing.
They were two people tangled in desire, insecurity, and unexamined patterns. They fed off each other’s worst traits while hiding behind performative spirituality.
What they had wasn’t sacred.
It was chaos.
And realizing that didn’t make me happy.
It gave me clarity and freedom.
