I didn’t walk away from marriage. I walked away from the version of it where my voice disappeared under his. Where compromise meant silence, and devotion meant disappearing.

I used to think staying made me strong. That love was proven by how much I could endure. But the more I stayed, the less of me there was left to hold on to.

There were nights I’d lie awake wondering what happened to the girl who used to laugh without flinching. The one who didn’t second-guess every word before it left her mouth. The one who didn’t confuse being needed with being loved.

I didn’t stop believing in marriage. I stopped believing in the kind that asks you to shrink. That calls you selfish for having needs. That turns love into something that erases you slowly.

I left because I wanted to live in a love that sees me. One that doesn’t require my disappearance to function. One that doesn’t ask me to trade clarity for chaos or selfhood for survival.

I didn’t fail at marriage. I failed at abandoning myself. And that’s a failure I’m finally proud of.