I remember when he proposed, almost ten years ago. I was afraid to say yes, but I did.

I can recall the morning of our wedding, feeling so unsure, scared. I was young, I thought it was normal, cold feet and all.

On our honeymoon, I cried. A lot. I blamed exhaustion. I mean do couples really have sex on the first night of their honeymoon? Oh, right, I guess some people do.

Our marriage was flawed, but whose wasn’t, I rationalized. We said vows, we loved each other, we would work it out.

It wasn’t until I was in my early 30’s that I started seriously questioning my husband’s integrity as a man and his commitment to our marriage. But that only made me try harder. I loved him, I was happy (or so I thought).

Wasn’t that enough?

No. I learned the answer is no. It is not enough.

When my husband left me and we agreed to divorce, it felt like the ground beneath my feet crumbled.

Friends and family kept telling me I was going to be ok, that I was strong enough to get past it.

I believed in their words and accepted their love and support. They were right. I did get through it and came out with an incredible sense of clarity about my marriage.

I let go of my love, I let go of the anger (somewhat). I made the commitment to myself to be happy. That was my biggest struggle toward the end of my marriage—all I wanted was to be happy with the man I married. But he didn’t want the same thing, so what’s a girl to do.

It didn’t matter how hard I tried because you can’t make someone else happy, and you can’t make someone else try.

I don’t regret it though.

My marriage taught me that unless I gave my all, unless I strived to live my life with no regrets, that I wouldn’t truly be satisfied and clarity wouldn’t exist because in its place would lie wonder, doubt, curiosity.