• Lauren Michael

Part ONE of how I became a single Mother

As I sit down to right this, I am not sure where to start. I am a little scared about sharing my journey that is filled with grief, depression, anger, and a multitude of other emotions.

My story also includes unimaginable joy, change, self improvement and self care, my two beautiful children and my light- Jesus.

I want to be transparent, though. If my story can be even just a small light for someone going through what I went through, it will be worth it.

My story begins 5 years ago, almost to the day, when my husband of 5 years left me. I was 8 months pregnant with our second child (a girl).

Our son was asleep upstairs, and my husband came downstairs with a bag packed. He announced that he would be going to work to stay that night since he had an early hike. He was a Marine and this was not a normal thing for him. Normally, he would have just left early in the morning for work.

I could see what was really happening. This had been brewing for weeks.



I pleaded with him to not go. I knew that if he went, he would never come back.

The man I married was gone. He turned in to a cold, unfeeling person that I did not know.

He sat in his chair and looked down. He had no expression in his eyes, and his jaw was clenched. He was a million miles away from the chair he sat in.

I got down on my knees in front of him, and I put my hand in his.

I am maybe a little ashamed to admit this, but I begged him to stay.

I. Begged.

I tried to hold on to any shred of what he once was and who we once were. I tried to find that in his hand that I was griping on to. I tried to find it in his eyes that had turned away from me.

“Please don’t leave me. Don’t leave us. Please”, I pleaded through sobs.

I asked if there was someone else.

He looked me dead in the eye and said that there was no one else.

So again, I begged. I didn’t understand. We had a toddler and a baby on the way! Why would he leave?!

He pulled my hand out of his and stood up.

He grabbed his bag and walked over to the front door. He stepped in to the door frame.

He paused.


“Please don’t leave!”

The door then closed, and I crumbled.

He never even looked back.

It felt like he had chopped off my legs and left me to bleed out.

I was in complete and utter shock.

All I could do in that moment was cry and say, “please, God.” Over and over.

When I was a kid, and I was afraid in the middle of the night, I would clasp my hands together in a prayer position, and I’d be able to fall back asleep. It was a comfort thing.

So that is what I did. I clasped my hands together and chanted over and over, “please, God. Please, God. Please, God.”

Sometimes I think about why I chose that particular phrase. I believe that I chanted that over and over again because my mind was racing. I was just torn in to a million pieces. I needed something to hold on to to get me through to the next second.

God did carry me though to the next second. And then the next and so on.

Little did I know then, I went through this for a greater purpose. There is much much more to this story. And I am thankful for this pain; this deep deep wound inside me.

I have never actually written any of that down before. And as I sit in the mechanics waiting room while my car is being fixed, tears are in my eyes. Tears of sadness for opening something that had scarred over, but also tears of joy for where I am now.


I want you to know, dear reader, that you will be OKAY. You will get through your river of sadness. You will climb and get out of your pit of grief/anger/depression/anxiety.

This is not the end of your story. And it’s not the end of mine either.

I will be back to share Part 2 next week.

Thank you so much for reading! Make sure to follow along on Instagram!

“For the Lord has called you back from your grief— as though you were a young wife abandoned by her husband,” says your God.”
‭‭Isaiah‬ ‭54:6‬ ‭
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