After being together for eight years, I knew when he was keeping something from me.
But that knowing lost its power the moment he brought up traveling again. He loved to go; I loved to stay. This time, he was suggesting an engagement trip—even though we’d tried that once, two years earlier, and it fell apart. So why now, with our schedules packed and no time to plan? And why spend the money on an engagement trip—at the cost of a honeymoon? It felt rushed, forced, and too much all at once. But I was too tired to fight him.
We were gone all the time, sometimes together, but mostly apart.
His business took him around the world, and mine had me flying back and forth between a sister company on a regular basis. Between trips, I’d return to Cincinnati as often as I could—to see my daughter, family, and life-long friends.
At 49, I was exhausted and longing for simplicity. The idea of rolling over one morning to the man I loved and a quiet proposal was all I really wanted.
However, I’d learned to acquiesce to his larger-than-life plans and his don’t-ask-don’t-tell way of being. Although this left me in the dark by design, the alternative was too taxing.
And here we were again, pretending all was well while fighting a darker battle—him playing his king, all the while forgetting that I held the piece that would win the game.
Then he found the perfect moment to ask what I hadn’t expected—filling the room with silence, on the verge of tears. I was drained from traveling, but I couldn’t say no.
Since the beginning of our relationship, Paris had always been off the table. He had taken a trip across Europe after graduating from high school and swore he would never return to this city. His disgust for whatever had happened there had somehow overshadowed his entire trip.
For me, Paris held incredible memories. It was my first home, where my family was once the closest, and a place I promised myself that I’d always return to.
And he knew it.
Unknowingly, my yes, had set the stage for what was coming.
A diversion—something so shiny that I’d never question what he was really proposing.
Next week: Chapter 3—Shiny Objects. Where the ring didn’t fit, and neither did the story.
I still remember the first time I heard a phrase at camp—the recovery center—that spoke directly to this chapter: “You’re only as sick as your secrets.”
This was it—my pattern. Being in relationships, both personal and professional, where privacy, ambiguity, and the unspoken were the default settings. Unless I asked the hard questions, things stayed that way. Don’t ask, don’t tell—not as policy, but as a pattern.
Without clarity, there’s room for misunderstanding, miscommunication—and most dangerously, a blurring of responsibility and accountability.
There’s a reason confusion becomes home for the codependent.
It’s not just the chaos—it’s the familiarity of the almost.
Almost loved. Almost told the truth. Almost safe.
In relationships where secrecy is the norm and clarity is optional, confusion is not an accident—it’s a strategy.
A way to avoid confrontation, delay loss, or stay needed.
And when you’re codependent, you get used to living in that fog.
Because to demand clarity would risk the very connection you’re terrified to lose.
So, you adapt. You become fluent in mixed signals.
You call it grace. You call it patience.
You call it love.
But it’s really silence.
And silence is where the web begins.
And that’s why clarity became my superpower.
Not because I always had it—but because I lived so long without it and saw what it cost me.
I spent years saying, “I don’t know what I want,” while building a life that looked great on paper but felt like a slow disappearance. Until one day, the confusion became too heavy to carry. So, I walked away—from the title, the illusion, the multimillion-dollar lifestyle—to figure out what I actually wanted.
That decision freed me.
And from that freedom came something more—a mission.
Not just to move on, but to help others move forward. Because I know what it’s like to live in the fog of confusion, to lose time, money, and pieces of yourself to uncertainty.
Now, clarity is something I offer others—individuals and businesses who know there’s more, but feel stuck, unsure of how to realize it.
Because clarity isn’t about having all the answers—it’s about finally asking the right questions.
And that changes everything.
Has uncertainty ever stopped you from going after what you truly wanted?
It’s one of those questions that shifts everything—because awareness is the first step to change.
Thank you for being part of this journey.
If you’d like to follow along across social media for behind-the-scenes reflections, story drops, and real-time insights on why clarity—about who you are and what you want—matters more than ever, click below.