Living Out of Alignment: 3 Big Lessons from My "Failed" Marriage and "Successful" Divorce

"Failing" at marriage was the most excellent learning opportunity EVER.

“When you know, you know.”

It’s what they say when you meet the person you’re “meant” to marry. But what happens when you think you know and later find out you didn’t?

One of my favorite phrases lately is: “You don’t know what you don’t know.”

I mention my divorce in nearly all of my Instagram reels — it was such a milestone, packed with lessons. Here are three major things I didn’t know before marrying in 2011.

1. Hormonal birth control messes with your mind and heart.

I started taking the Pill (Sprintec) in 2009. It was a bargain at $9 a month, which was perfect for the penny-pincher I was back then. But I had no idea about the risks of hormonal birth control — it’s so common, so easy to get, I’m surprised you even still need a prescription for it.

About a month in, I was hosting a small housewarming at my new place (with 3–5 roommates at any given time) when I found myself strangely attracted to one of my friends, a guy who wasn’t my type at all. It felt weird, but I told a girlfriend about my crush and decided, “Why not? Let’s go with it!” He’d had a crush on me for months, so once he knew I was “into him,” we started dating.

Two months after starting the Pill.

Ten months later, we were engaged, and six months after that, we married in his parents’ backyard. I was “high” on synthetic hormones while making these big life decisions, and my anxiety was relentless, especially around the wedding. I couldn’t eat or sleep for days before and after. I even took half a shot of tequila and a glass of prosecco before walking down the aisle to Brad Paisley’s “She’s Everything.” I had just turned 24.

Two years later, I stumbled across a blog about the harmful effects of hormonal birth control. I’d been experiencing bouts of depression during the placebo week (a withdrawal from the hormones) and finally started to question whether I should keep taking it. My anxiety was getting worse, so I quit the Pill.

Suddenly, I no longer felt attracted to my husband. I thought my libido drop was just my hormones adjusting and that my feelings would return. But they didn’t. I loaded up on all kinds of hard-to-pronounce herbs I’d read online that supposedly helped balance hormones and make you more frisky. And while I felt better mentally, the spark I’d had for my husband was :::poof::: gone. Sex felt like a chore, so I drank more to lower my natural inhibitions, just trying to “get in the mood.” But I felt numb. He didn’t turn me on at all, and I blamed myself, never realizing we’d been incompatible from the start.

2. Hiding from yourself never works in the long run.

When my husband asked for an “open relationship” in 2017, I felt such intense dread and fear, but I agreed to it because I thought he only wanted more sex, and if he didn’t get it, we’d end up divorced — which felt impossible at the time. Our house was under construction; he owned half of my business, and he managed all our finances. Divorce felt way too complicated.

A year later, on a trip to an all-inclusive in Cancún, he told me he wanted a divorce. He’d been dating someone I went to high school with for months and told me he’d had “the best sex of his life” with her (yes, he really told me that).

I tried everything to numb myself — vaping CBD to cut down on drinking, which eventually turned into vaping marijuana concentrates. Unbeknownst to me, some of the marijuana I purchased in states like California and Washington was laced with hallucinogens. I experienced several episodes of what was diagnosed as “psychosis” but were actually hallucinations from the laced cartridges. I was diagnosed with bipolar disorder repeatedly, told I’d never recover, and forcibly medicated before being discharged.

My immune system was ravaged by stress, which led to extreme physical burnout and suicidal depression from 2019 to 2021. From February to November 2021, I drowned my feelings in heavy bourbon every night, raging at myself for “doing this to myself.” I hadn’t yet broken the pattern of blaming myself for what I didn’t know.

The truth was I was using substances to escape the deep dissatisfaction I felt in my marriage. I didn’t respect my husband, felt unseen, and resented carrying the weight of our business while he spent his time however he pleased, chasing various business ideas and spending freely. I’d created a reality so out of sync with who I wanted to be: adventurous and free.

Little did I know that confronting that pain would be exactly what would heal me.

3. Marriage in religious circles can be more about appearances than compatibility.

Growing up, I was surrounded by religious friends, and the pressure to marry young was intense. I went to my first wedding at 14, watching my youth group leaders marry at 21 and 22, which led me to believe that 21 or 22 was the perfect age to get married.

By the time I hit 22 and wasn’t engaged, I felt like I was “running late.” My friends were either engaged or dating “good Christian boys.”

Premarital sex was off-limits, and I remember being at a Christian conference in 2006, envying all the young women with men wearing wedding rings because it meant they were allowed to have sex.

Looking back, I’m amazed at how strongly I let outside beliefs dictate my choices. Evangelical Christianity taught me to shrink — to become nothing so God could be everything, ignoring the fact that God is in everything, including me. Now I believe that by expanding myself, I allow God to expand, too.

And I believe all pain has a purpose… even the pain of a mismatched marriage.

When you’re truly compatible with someone, it feels safe, warm, and nearly anxiety-free. I only recently began to experience this kind of relationship and almost dismissed it because it felt so unfamiliar — so calm and freeing.

Incompatibility has a way of revealing itself through anxiety, wishful thinking, or projections. I was in an on-again, off-again relationship from January 2022 until I finally blocked him in May of this year.

Initially, I thought the good feelings I had with him were real, but I later realized I was creating them with my thoughts about who he was. Each time we reconnected, he seemed attentive and conscious at first, but he always reverted to his self-centered ways eventually. I finally saw him for what he was: someone extracting my energy to comfort his loneliness.

The last time I saw him, I felt bored, empty, and unseen. I realized I was shrinking myself to be with him. His comfort was always the priority, and he’d let me know when I was “too much,” while ignoring me if I hinted he was “too little.” Our relationship was parasitic, not symbiotic.

Experiencing real compatibility has been nothing short of a divine revelation. It’s not lust or mere attraction; it’s genuine interest, safety, and the freedom to be all of who you are. For the first time, I understand what “chemistry” really means. It’s not about making you look good in someone else’s life — it’s about the natural, mutual connection that just feels right.