Six years ago, almost to the month, I did the unthinkable and called off my wedding just two weeks before walking down the aisle.
My well-curated plans unraveled overnight. I was 32, utterly heartbroken, and single once again. I was also deeply aware that my loudly ticking biological clock was about to run out, or so I thought.
I desperately wanted to be a mother, and after a lifetime of programming, I was convinced that this was my last shot at a happily-ever-after. I was content to rush into forever, even though I knew our fractured relationship would unravel with time. I was ready to marry the wrong man purely for the sake of becoming a mom.
But as the wedding approached, the fear of betraying the woman and the mother I hoped to someday be became greater than the fear of leaving.
So, I walked away.
I walked away from the wedding, the relationship, the timeline someone else prescribed for my life, and from the version of me who was too afraid to stand firm in her truth.
That single decision shattered all pre-existing illusions I had about what my life should look like and forced me to start rebuilding based on what I actually wanted. Not what society wanted, or Instagram expected, but what my heart and my intuition truly longed for.
Walking away from my engagement opened up the door to a new chapter of rebuilding. I had to learn who I was again, and for a while I was truly afraid I had lost her. But this season of reckoning forced me to make time for journaling, running, and yoga. I got certified in Lagree, rebuilt my friendships, and learned to enjoy my own company again. I stopped people pleasing. I set boundaries that were uncomfortable but necessary. I let go of perfectionism and comparison. I finally trusted myself.
I also opened the door to something else: the right relationship.
After a long period of healing, turning down relationships that still didn’t fill my cup, and deep realignment, I met Joe. And for the first time in my life, I didn’t rush into the fairytale. No pressure. No artificial timelines. Just a steady building of trust and an aligned partnership that was rooted in truth. An anchor providing stability that still allowed space for growth. Joe felt like a warm soul hug and an undeniably safe place for my heart to land.
Years later, when the time finally felt right, motherhood began and I blossomed.
The strength it took to walk away from that first engagement is the same strength I now bring to motherhood, every single day.
I refuse to accept others’ “must-dos” or arbitrary timelines. No more trying to impress or shrinking to fit in for the sake of expectations. Just the courage to stand by my decisions and unapologetically be the mom I want to be.
It’s the reason I can say “no” to things that don’t serve my daughter, even when it makes others uncomfortable. It’s the reason I could navigate a rocky breastfeeding journey without spiraling into shame or comparison. It’s why I trust myself to know what’s best for my child, even when the world tries to convince me otherwise.
I wouldn’t have had that trust if I hadn’t first learned to honor my own voice and let it guide my intuition.
By taking my power back post-wedding, I laid the foundation upon which I would build my motherhood beliefs. I cultivated a softer strength and quieter confidence. For when you harness self-trust, you never waiver A groundedness and unshakeable knowing.
I may have been walking away from a wedding, but I was also actively walking toward conscious motherhood. I just didn’t realize it at the time.
Now, I’m raising my daughter from that place. I protect her space and her rhythm and I can calmly and immediately speak up when something doesn’t feel right. I trust my ability to mother intuitively. I still read parenting books, but I don’t let them dictate how I raise my child. I take their lessons, add a grain of salt, and take what feels right, and leave what doesn’t.
This bravery and conviction then also led me to reimagine what motherhood as a whole could look like. A vision shaped by intention, not generational obligation.
I grew up surrounded by quiet martyrs – moms who always came last and wore their sacrifice like a badge of honor. It was rarely explicit, but deeply ingrained.
That’s not the inheritance I want for my daughter. Or for myself. We both deserve more.
There are trade-offs in motherhood, of course, but full self-abandonment isn’t one of them. So I prioritize my well-being (without guilt) because my daughter is worthy of a mother who’s whole, not hollowed out. And if I want her to honor her needs one day, she has to see me honoring mine now.
Even with all of my growth over the years, there was still one last layer I needed to strip away: perfectionism.
For years, I chased some imagined ideal and tried to be the perfect daughter, woman, and partner. But perfection is a myth, and pursuing it only kept me small. To walk away from my engagement, I had to embrace all of my flaws.
Now, motherhood demands that I let the cracks show. That I model resilience, not flawlessness.
So I continue the daily practice of softening, of showing up as I am. I may not be perfect, but I’m present. And that is more than enough.
There’s no perfect timeline or ideal age for marriage. There isn’t even a real roadmap for building the life you want. There’s just your pace, your values, and your gut. Walking away from my wedding, and risking never becoming a mother, was the self-trust, trust fall I had to embrace in order to create the life I currently get to live so fully.
I became a mom later than I expected, and thank God for that. For with time, came more than just advanced maternal age.
I didn’t know it then, but I needed space to mature as a woman before stepping into my motherhood journey, and I needed to know myself fully before I could show up for someone else.
More than anything, I needed more wisdom even if it meant being labeled a geriatric mom and I needed to embrace motherhood on my terms, no matter what external voices were whispering my way.
Six years ago, I said “no” to a wedding. But more importantly, I said “yes” to myself.
That one decision changed everything.
Now, when I show up for my daughter, with all my imperfections and absolutely all my love, I know exactly where my strength comes from.
I trust myself. And that trust is the legacy I’m passing on.
