Each day, I grew a little bolder. It was like waking up to a world I had only seen through a window—suddenly, I was stepping inside. A new universe opened before me, filled with possibilities and pleasures I had never known. It felt like walking into a candy store.
For the first time, I had my own money. I was no longer completely dependent on my ex-husband. As I began spending more time with women outside the movement, my eyes began to open. They showed me that life could be more than just being a housewife, bound to daily chores and responsibilities. I didn’t resent caring for my son, I loved being a mom, but I had never been given the chance to discover who I was or what I was capable of. It was the beginning of a new chapter, one where I would finally begin to ask: what do I want from my life?
Back then, I confused freedom with rebellion. I thought the only way to be free was to cast off everything I had ever known. And maybe, at that point, it was necessary. I had to gather strength and take the leap. But in doing so, I often fell into the role of a victim—fueled by anger at what had been done to me, rather than focusing on what I could build from it.
So yes, I hacked my way out of the jungle with a machete—but I had no map. I didn’t know where I was going. And the same patterns kept repeating themselves. Without clear direction, I walked straight into another jungle of confusion, reencountering the same wounds again and again, just in new forms, with new people.
I wanted to break free, the wild woman in me had awakened. Although I had always loved my ex-husband, I hadn’t truly chosen him. He had become part of a past I was ready to leave behind.
I didn’t know how to make the change the “right” way, but I knew I needed it. I wanted a divorce. It felt like the right decision for me. My whole life, others had made decisions over my head. But this was mine. I had no idea where to turn for help or what the next step would be, it all felt like a painful fog. My then-husband didn’t agree. He said, “If you want a divorce, you leave. I’ll stay with our son. ”But that wasn’t a life I could live with, either.
I began an affair with someone outside our world—a desperate attempt to escape, to start over. But it only created more chaos, because inside me was chaos. My son was caught in the middle. I couldn’t give him the security he needed, because I didn’t know who I was myself. He felt all the turmoil of his parents, two lost souls trying to swim through rough waters. I loved him with all my heart, but without a connection to myself, I looked for stability in a world I didn’t know how to live in. I thought the answer was a new relationship. What I didn’t yet understand was that true peace comes only from within, and the most important relationship is the one we have with ourselves. As Albert Einstein once said:
“We cannot solve our problems with the same thinking we used when we created them.”_
I believed the solution was out there, a new person, a new romance, a new life. But the affair turned out to be destructive, and I ran into the next so-called adventure. I was still working at the confiserie, slowly gaining a foothold. But I was running on empty. I slept too little, and I chased every thrill, every party, every distraction.
I was rolling myself into a snowball, and the avalanche had already started. It picked up speed, and with it, people. And pain. And guilt.
My shame was immense. But my will to run from the life I had left behind was even stronger.
It would take me time to learn that I wasn’t responsible for keeping everyone around me comfortable. That it was okay to have boundaries. That I didn’t need to sacrifice myself to avoid conflict. I had done that too many times.
And the question is not just what happened to me, but why. Why did I keep repeating these patterns? Why did I sabotage myself? Why couldn’t I see a way out?
Because I was stuck in my story. And my story had become my identity. But here’s what I’ve learned: There is always a way out. Always. We just have to awaken. To recognize the dream we’re trapped in—and step out of it.