Finding Myself Again
Astrid Mayorga
My grief came from a marriage where, slowly, I disappeared.
Before working at Rooster and Hen, I thought grief only meant death.
Now I know it can also mean losing yourself.
I grew up with an alcoholic parent, so when my husband began showing similar tendencies, I didn’t think much of it.
Our marriage started with a lot of love, and for a long time I told myself everything was okay. I had learned early that as long as the bills were paid and things looked fine on the outside, you didn’t talk about the hard parts.
We were married for ten years and had two kids.
During COVID, I had a newborn and felt completely overwhelmed trying to keep everything together.
I was struggling with severe anxiety and depression, and it started affecting my ability to care for my children. That’s when I finally reached out to my doctor and began therapy.
Before therapy, I thought how I was living was normal. In my culture, mothers don’t talk about what’s wrong at home — you protect the image of the family. Therapy helped me understand what was normal, and what wasn’t. It gave me language for things I had been carrying quietly for years.
After my divorce, I made a promise to myself: I would invest in who I am, not just who I am for other people.
I started developing skills and hobbies so I wouldn’t lose myself again. Riding horses became especially important for my mental health. Being with them grounded me, challenged me, and gave me something that was mine.
Now I’m training for a horse competition, working toward a license to inspect houses, and building a life I genuinely enjoy. I’ve even found healing in my relationships — with my ex-husband and with my mom.
Therapy helped me heal connections, even when other people weren’t doing their own work.
I didn’t start therapy to change my life.
I started it because I wanted to be a better mom.
But along the way, I found myself again.
That’s why this work matters to me.
When we name grief in all its forms — including the quiet loss of self — we give people permission to rebuild, to dream, and to choose themselves without shame.
♥️
After sharing this story, I paused to notice where my heart is now.
The Heart I Chose
I chose a heart shaped from a green pipe cleaner.
Flexible — with the possibility of coming apart, but also finding its way back together. This is my heart now.
Sharing about my divorce and loving someone with addiction makes my heart feel adjustable. There is still hurt in this grief, but there is also strength. I can see the good that has come from what I’ve lived through, and it no longer holds me the way it once did.
I’m learning to radiate love from the inside. There is a calm that comes from choosing my own happiness — and from knowing my heart can bend without breaking.
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