Manifesto: Life After Divorce and Starting Over
Have you ever prayed for something to completely fall apart, just so you could rebuild your life from scratch? Dreamed of disappearing and being reborn from the ashes? Wondered what it would be like to start as a blank piece of paper? Have you ever felt something holding you back — you don’t know what it is, but you know you could be bigger, better, than what you’ve settled for? How do you release that potential?
When I started therapy, I couldn’t even explain why I needed it. I just knew something was off. I knew I wasn’t happy. From the outside, my life looked fine: a husband, children, studies, a career. But inside, I was restless. Empty. Like I was walking around in shoes that didn’t fit, convincing myself that the blisters were normal.
Therapy forced me to face questions that had been hiding in the shadows — questions I didn’t even know existed. But I faced them. I started asking myself: Would I be here if I wasn’t married? Would I still be with this man if we hadn’t had our son so early? Would I still recognize myself if I stripped away all the roles I’d been performing for years — wife, mother, good girl, reliable one?
Asking these questions only made me more miserable at first. More anxious. It was like poking holes in a dam that was holding back an ocean. And when it started to crack, everything rushed out — old pain, anger, shame, grief. The demons I had buried deep inside finally stood in the light, and I had to look at them.
I invited my husband to ask himself the same questions. But people cope with these things differently. While I was peeling away my soul, layer after layer, on a messy, painful journey of self-discovery — my husband was undressing a coworker.
Some breakups give you heartbreak. Mine gave me wings.
This site isn’t about perfect beaches and colorful cocktails. It’s not about Instagram-worthy views or pretending life is always golden hour. It’s about the mess, the naked truth, and stepping outside the script.
Why “That Little Beach”? Because I can be a bitch—but the internet probably wouldn’t let me use that name. So I played with the words. This space can be both. A bitch on the beach — my little corner of the world, where honesty is more important than politeness.
A lot of people say I’m “too much.” Too loud. Too opinionated. Too raw. For years, I shrank myself to fit in. I smoothed the edges, lowered my voice, forced smiles at the right moments. I thought being agreeable would buy me love, safety, belonging.
But it didn’t.
And I’m done shrinking.
I’m not afraid anymore of being myself. Of being called difficult, or messy, or dramatic. In a world where sweet, nice, and polite sells best —we bitches barely have space. I want to push my elbows out and carve out more room for authenticity.
Fuck polite. Tell the truth.
So here it is: my manifesto.
This blog is for anyone who’s ever felt like they were living someone else’s life. For women who’ve been told they’re too much. For anyone who thought their story ended with a breakup — when really, that’s where the real story begins.
Here, you’ll find reflections on travel, love, heartbreak, and rebuilding. You’ll find essays about uncomfortable topics and taboos. You’ll find the honesty I once tried to bury. And maybe, if you’re looking for it, you’ll find the courage to step outside the comfort zone, too.
Because starting over isn’t about wiping the slate completely clean — it’s about learning to love the messy handwriting on the page, even when the ink smudges.
Welcome to That Little Beach. #lifeunfiltered