I Finally Realized Alicia Had Disappeared

How Self-Abandonment Happens so gradually, you don’t even notice it until you can’t find yourself.

How a Casual Remark Changed Everything

My college friend commented that she could see bits of my old self returning. I looked at her quizzically. Yes, she said, you disappeared under the weight of your marriage.

Photo by Kelsey Curtis on Unsplash

I laughed it off at first.

Disappeared?

What was she talking about?

But as I sat with it, memories started surfacing. The clothes I stopped wearing. The opinions I stopped expressing. The spontaneous parts of me that slowly went quiet. The way I began checking his reactions before I acted or spoke.

I hadn’t even NOTICED until she made that remark– but now that she said it, I could FEEL what she was referring to…

I had gone from living in full color, larger than life, audacious me, to a flat-Stanley version, black and white, experiencing life through others’ eyes and not my own. I had buried myself to fit into the “wife” mold that I thought was demanded of me for a successful marriage.

How did it happen?

How could someone with such a large personality allow herself to be whittled down to a mere splinter of myself?

The stronger and more adaptable you are, the more capable you become of reshaping yourself to maintain relationships. People think strong women are immune to self-abandonment. Sometimes we’re the most vulnerable because we’re so capable of adapting.

The change wasn’t one big event. It was death by a thousand papercuts— little remarks here and there that closed the doors of my personality.

The Passing Remark that Woke Me Up

One day, while walking in downtown Petaluma, I commented to a woman walking by about how nice she looked. Just a random remark because I like to notice people.

My wasband said, “Do you HAVE to talk to strangers on the street like that?” (He said it in a rather nasty tone…)

My stomach dropped.

I felt myself go quiet.

Not because of the comment itself, but because I suddenly understood what he was criticizing.

I make an effort to recognize people and say something because I believe people don’t feel seen or appreciated. I believe a small remark like that can make a person’s day. To notice someone and to say something is like a gift you give a person. A gift of delight… a light that shines on the inside.

That is the way I express my love in the world. It is a huge part of me.

Suddenly, years of similar moments came rushing back. The times my wasband rejected something I had done that he didn’t approve of. And I had the realization at that moment that the relationship was doomed. When he rejected such a pivotal part of who I was, I realized he didn’t like me at my core.

That was June. He asked for the divorce in September.

I was cut free.

Now I could be fully myself without worrying about his perception.

All the things I had stopped doing, fearing his disapproval, I could now do again.

I could be myself.

But after so many years of shutting down, the rebirth takes time. At the moment, I felt rejected and like a failure. I had failed at this long-term marriage.

The Unfolding

As time has gone by and more of myself has come back online, I realize what a great gift he has given me. The gift of myself.

The funny thing is, when he told me he wanted a divorce, he said I would be able to do what I wanted now. That felt so off-putting at the time.

People talk a lot about finding themselves.

That isn’t what this feels like.

I haven’t found myself.

I know exactly where she was.

Folded up carefully and stored away.

I thought the divorce was the end of my marriage.

Now I see it was the beginning of my return.

Every week, another forgotten piece unfolds.

A desire.

An opinion.

A curiosity.

A boldness.

A voice.

After years of shrinking, I am learning to take up space again.

The Great Unfolding has begun.

The Tarot Nook

The Queen of Swords

Smith-Waite Deck - Queen of Swords

This week’s card was the Queen of Swords.

She is often described as perceptive, independent, and unafraid of the truth.

As I reflected on this week’s story, I realized the Queen wasn’t asking me to become someone new. She was asking me to see clearly.

For years, I told myself a story about who I needed to be in order to make my marriage work. Little by little, I folded away parts of myself until I could barely recognize the woman underneath.

Then my friend spoke a simple truth:

“You disappeared under the weight of your marriage.”

The Queen of Swords reminds us that truth can be painful, but it is also liberating. Once we see clearly, we can begin to reclaim what was lost.

The Great Unfolding begins with a single act of courage:

Looking honestly at what is.