Fast forward to July 2012, just before we were set to get married, we had a massive fight. It got so heated that I cleared out his closet in one dramatic swoop (something we laughed about later). Why didn’t I see this as a second red flag? I’ll never know. My bad. There was another warning sign—well, maybe not a red flag, but some solid advice I failed to take. What advice, you ask? An old friend in her sixties once told me, “People come into your life for a reason.” She believed that while he was a good friend who helped me navigate my divorce, he wasn’t the person I should marry. I still reflect on those words today. Sometimes, the wisdom we’re given is exactly what we need—but we don’t listen. Shaking my head at myself for that one. And yes, I could’ve just typed “SMH,” but not everyone knows what it means!

As you can imagine, we tied the knot on July 21, 2012. Many of the people who swore they’d show up didn’t, but the ones who mattered most were there. Fun fact (or not): A cousin who was supposed to attend the wedding skipped it, showed up at the reception, announced that she had gotten married, stayed for five minutes, and left. Yep, that happened! Karma’s a wild one, though—her marriage didn’t last long. While I wasn’t thrilled with her behavior, I wish her no harm.

The reception itself? Absolute chaos. My siblings went all out—and by “all out,” I mean they were a drunken mess. I have four sisters and one brother, all younger than me (with my brother being the baby). One sister was acting like she was Rapunzel, another was running around kicking things, and they were all in the bathroom planking across the sinks, snapping pictures. It was madness! We eventually had to hide the rest of the alcohol just to get them to leave. ROFL. Honestly, it was hilarious—until it wasn’t.

Before I dive in even more, let me say this: His mom gave him some golden advice before we got married. She told him, “The way you got her is the way you’ll need to keep her.” Too bad he didn’t take his mother’s words to heart. SMDH.

Within a year of our marriage, everything changed. My husband became someone I didn’t recognize. Around the same time, I left my job to take care of my youngest daughter, who was later diagnosed with numerous health and mental challenges. (I’ll share more about that in a future blog titled “Two Daughters and Several Autoimmune Diseases”—working title, of course.)

But back to the nightmare. My husband did a complete 180. Conversations turned into arguments over the simplest things. I couldn’t ask a basic question without it spiraling into chaos. It was exhausting. I started pretending to be asleep when he came home just to avoid the stress. Thankfully, we slept in separate rooms because his snoring was like a bear growling through the night.

I couldn’t figure out what went wrong. Yes, I had left my job, but it was a decision we discussed and mutually agreed upon. My days were far from lazy—I was constantly on the move. Every morning, I made breakfast, got the girls ready for school, and picked up 10 nieces and nephews along the way for drop-offs. After that, I’d return home, clean, prep for dinner, and then head back out to pick everyone up, drop them at their homes, help with homework, and start dinner. Oh, and I also volunteered at school.

I wasn’t sitting around doing nothing—I was drowning in responsibilities. Yet, the tension in our home kept building. It felt like I had escaped the frying pan only to jump headfirst into a raging fire I never saw coming.

Single Again