I Divorced the Preacher and Became a Pariah—And That Was Just the Beginning

They didn’t burn me at the stake, but they sure as hell tried to freeze me out.

The day I divorced the preacher, I might as well have been excommunicated. Not officially, of course, but let’s just say my church community suddenly lost their ability to make eye contact with me in the produce aisle. If they spotted me near the bananas, they’d bolt for the dairy section. If I reached for a loaf of bread, they suddenly had a deep, urgent need for canned goods.

Nobody checked on me. Nobody asked if I was okay. And let me tell you, I was not okay.

Because here’s the thing: happy women don’t file for divorce. I was in pain. Deep, soul-crushing pain. But instead of love, I got judgment. Instead of support, I got silence.

And Lord help me, the church ladies loved to whisper that old warning:
"Be careful what you ask for—you just might get it."

Well, honey, I got it. And it was brutal.

I lost the house. The security. The sense of belonging. My girls suffered in ways I never wanted them to. There was no internet, no support groups, no safe spaces for women making the kind of decision I made. Just grit, gumption, and a gut-wrenching desire for a life that felt like mine.

The moment I stepped out of that marriage, I felt it—the isolation, the cold shoulder, the way people averted their eyes in the grocery store as if my divorce was contagious. The church members who once called me “sister” suddenly treated me like a cautionary tale. It was a loneliness so sharp it cut through my bones.

This painting of the three barns captures exactly how it felt. The stark, unforgiving landscape of starting over, the overwhelming quiet of a life that had been stripped down to nothing familiar. But then—there she is. The Red Lady. Painted on the barn, arms wide open, defying the bleakness around her. She appeared in my work again and again over the years, unintentionally becoming a symbol of what I was chasing: the energy, the resilience, the joy of reclaiming my dreams.

Because that’s what I did. I didn’t just leave a marriage—I left behind an existence that had no room for me in it. The road from pariah to artist, to storyteller, to a woman who actually owns her life, was not smooth. It was cold. It was lonely. It was filled with moments where I doubted if I’d made the right choice. But I see it so clearly now.

I was never meant to stay in that marriage. I was meant to step out, to create, to find my way back to myself. And if my Red Lady has anything to say about it, so are you.

But looking back? That one decision—walking away from a marriage that wasn’t right for me—set off a domino effect that led me right here.

Every hardship, every closed door, every time I had to pick myself up off the floor shaped the woman writing these words today. The woman who reclaimed her dreams.

I didn’t know it at the time, but leaving that marriage wasn’t just about survival. It was the first step toward this life.

So if you’re standing at a crossroads, terrified of what comes next, here’s what I’ll tell you:

💡 The first step doesn’t always feel like a victory. Sometimes, it feels like your whole world is burning down.

🔥 But sometimes, that fire is exactly what’s needed to clear the path for your dreams.

🔥 WAIT. HOLD UP. 🔥
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Your move. 😏👇