There comes a moment in the healing process when someone you once thought was extraordinary—someone you grieved, longed for, and placed on a pedestal—suddenly becomes just an ordinary person. It’s a strange and quiet shift, but it’s also one of the most profound.  

Last night, I signed the settlement agreement for my divorce. It was a long time coming, but even with all the growth and detachment, a part of me still felt the pull of familiarity. Maybe it was nostalgia. Maybe it was the desire for comfort, connection, or just one last hug. Whatever it was, I found myself at Mark’s house.  

When he opened the door, he pulled me into a hug, and for a brief moment, I thought I would feel something overwhelming—some deep emotion, some confirmation that this man still had a hold on me. But instead, I felt something else entirely.  

I stepped back and studied his face, his hands, his body—fully clothed, nothing different than before. I watched him zone out to the television, sitting in his rental home, in the same familiar way he always had. And then it hit me.  

Mark was just an ordinary man.  

Not in a bad way, not in a way that belittles him or diminishes our history. But in the most simple and human way. This man who had once consumed my thoughts, whose absence had felt unbearable, whose love I had grieved so deeply—he was just another person, living his life.  

And so was I.  

This shift is hard to put into words, but I think anyone who has truly moved through a breakup understands it. There’s a period when the person feels larger than life. When they feel like a missing piece, a soul connection, a once-in-a-lifetime love. But then, one day, something changes.  

Maybe it’s time. Maybe it’s personal growth. Maybe it’s finally seeing them through the lens of reality rather than longing.  

Whatever it is, the weight lifts.  

You stop seeing them as a monument of what was lost, and instead, you see them as they are: a person with flaws and beauty, habits and routines, strengths and weaknesses. A person who is no longer meant for you.  

It’s a turning point in healing, one that signals true detachment. Not the kind of detachment that comes from suppressing emotions, but the kind that comes from truly letting go.  

There was a time when I thought Mark was the greatest love of my life. But now, he’s just a man. And I am just a woman, walking forward into my own future—no longer looking back with longing, but with quiet understanding and peace.  

And that is how you know you are free.