Beauty from Brokenness: How I Rebuilt My Life as a Single Mom After Trauma
On July 31st, 2024, the police told me it was no longer safe for me to go anywhere near my home.
I was two months pregnant.
This week, I turn 38.
As I step into a new chapter of my life, it felt only fitting to share the story of my rebirth with you—a journey of starting over after separation and finding beauty in the brokenness.
Some may question my candor in such a public space, but I want to teach my daughter to affirm all of her strengths and achievements—first quietly to herself, and then proudly and loudly if she so chooses.
So here goes…
Leaving It All Behind: When My Whole Life Fit in Three Bags
Life looks very different than I thought it would two years ago. I thought I had found my forever, my great love. I was newly and happily married, and had planned to start a family.
Then, three months later, as I was excitedly putting the finishing touches on my new 3rd grade classroom, the police told me it was no longer safe to go anywhere near my own home. My entire world fell apart and I was two months pregnant.
So I chose to protect my child and myself, very quickly threw what I could in a few bags, and I left…because there was no other choice to be made.
I left my home, my job, my sweet stepson, and my marriage and I moved in with my parents.
Over the next few weeks and months, when I thought things couldn’t possibly get worse, the hits just kept coming and so did the discoveries.
The great love I thought I’d found was actually a tragically broken and dangerous road that led me to my actual great love, my sweet Rosemary.
Beauty from brokenness.
Rosie from the thorns.
She is joy and light and love and purity and MAGIC in human form. I’m in awe of her and that I get to be her mother every single day.
Shattered Vows, What Remained
I’m also in awe of what it took to get us here.
Days filled with unimaginable anger and pain, wondering what I had done to deserve this. Days when every vulnerability I had was used as a weapon against me. Days when I shattered vows and wrote letters I’ll never send with words I’ll never get to say.
Days when I wondered how I’d ever trust another human again. Days when it all consumed me so completely that I didn’t recognize the girl in the mirror.
Grieving the loss of a person who never truly existed—but was so real to me—and the dreams, the life, and the great love I so longed to have.
Days that felt like victories if I just put my feet on the ground. Days when we were afraid to leave our home. Days when I was afraid of the dark, of shadows, of any sudden noise.
Days when we thought my body was losing the one good thing I felt I had left. Days when I wondered what all of this trauma was doing to her—and what kind of mother she would have when she got here.
What shell of a person would I be?
And Then There Was Rosie
THEN. Then, there was HER.
Her heartbeat.
My mom’s voice, “Ab, you’re going to have a daughter.”
Her first movements—first a flutter, a quickening, then kicks I looked forward to all day.
Her face on an ultrasound. On particularly hard days my mom scheduled extra ultrasounds just because she knew I needed to see her.
Her responding to my songs at night, to my voice, to my Dad’s. Her letters. Sobbing on the beach on Lake Michigan writing my first letter to her and promising to always keep her safe, desperately hoping one day she would understand my decision. Promising myself that I would find my way through this.
Her “angels” we found in the community who helped us—Diana, Elizabeth, Linda, Jackie, Leah, Katie, Tahnee, and Nichelle. Her nursery. My mom and I obsessing over every detail because we both so desperately needed the distraction.
Her shower. One of the most joyful days of my life. Looking around the room at the people who have loved me so well my whole life—and knowing they would love her just the same.
Day after day, I focused on HER, and day after day, she and the people who love me carried me through.
And eventually, I put my feet back on the ground again.
Choosing Joy: The Path Back to Myself
So, in launching this space, I want to celebrate the strength it takes to put your feet back on the ground again and run like hell toward the life you deserve. Here’s to choosing joy when there’s seemingly none to be found.
I’ve learned there is no hole so dark or path so difficult it cannot be overcome—I’ve been down a few.
Joy always follows.
Sometimes it finds you, and sometimes you have to dig deep and find it for yourself.
And sometimes, it just looks different than you thought it would.
Over the years, people and pillows have often told me to “choose joy” and I used to consider it just some empty platitude that trivialized my real pain—often said by those who hadn’t experienced much of either. I absolutely hated it.
Now, I believe in it.
Because choosing joy isn’t just magically choosing to be happy or willing the pain to leave your body. It’s choosing to do the very small things minute by minute that will eventually lead you back to joy and wholeness—like putting your feet on the ground again or taking a shower that day or picking up the phone to ask for help or picking up a pen to scream onto a page.
It’s choosing the smallest task you’re capable of that day, then adding another, and then another. Then one day you feel bits of normalcy, flashes of hope, then maybe something’s funny again. Then, joy creeps its way back in.
Joy itself isn’t a choice, but the path back to it certainly is. It’s a choice I’ll never stop making.
To my family—thank you for holding me up when I couldn’t stand on my own. For stepping in in ways you never should have had to, and for loving me and Rosie so fiercely through it all.
To my mama—my MVP—thank you for doing it all when I had nothing left…even when you had nothing left either. I will never be able to put into words what that has meant to me.
And to my Rosie—my very first decision as your mother was to protect you and keep you safe, but all the while, you were the one saving me. You are, and will always be, my greatest joy—but this year, I plan to find even more.
I still have a very challenging road ahead, but I’ll never stop striving for wholeness and happiness.
None of this is to say that I’ve figured it out. Life is hard. Being a new mom is HARD. Nights still get lonely and my heart and brain are still mending. It takes a very long time for this type of anger, sadness, and trauma to leave the body, but I can say that the joyful days now significantly outnumber the others.
And tomorrow, I’ll choose joy by putting my feet on the ground, picking up my daughter, and finding the joy in the day with my girl by my side.
Well, that "tomorrow"? It starts today, because you and this space are now part of our joy and our story.
Welcome to The Nest: Grace, Grit, & My Why
So why am I here?
I don’t want to be an influencer.
I want to be a writer.
Writing has been one of my greatest passions for as long as I can remember. I’ve filled journal after journal (I have about twenty to prove it) and have even written a children’s book.
And at some point, I thought… why not take it a step further?
Why not write for women like me?
I started this during a season when my life felt uncertain—when so many things felt out of my control.
This became my way of reclaiming that control.
And it’s brought me more joy than I ever anticipated.
But I’m not just doing this for me. I’m doing this for you, too.
When I was pregnant, and my life was falling apart, I came to spaces like these—looking for advice, for community, for something to hold onto when my world was crumbling.
I wanted to be a mom before I wanted to be anything…and at the same time, I was completely terrified.
In the late night hours, when fear kept me awake, reading the real experiences and stories of other moms and single mothers starting over made me feel safe.
They made me feel prepared.
They made me feel seen.
They simplified things for me.
So, if I can do even one of those things for you—from my little corner of the internet,
then that’s something I can be proud of.
Finally, and most importantly, I’m doing this for my daughter—
to show her what grace and grit look like.
To show her that even when life asks you to walk through fire, you can come out of it anew…with something even more beautiful on the other side.
And for me, that something beautiful is Rosemary Elizabeth. My Rosie.
She deserves the brightest future I can possibly give her—one that is safe, joyful, and full of possibilities.
So, just by being here, you’re a part of that journey.
Welcome to The Nest. 🤍
I’m really glad you’re here.
For me.
For HER.
For us.
