A Love That Wasn’t Yours to Keep

Nobody talks about the grief that comes with having to stand firm on a hard decision—knowing it’s not what you wanted, but what was necessary for your well-being. When you choose to walk away from a relationship you’ve poured time, energy, and pieces of your soul into… without knowing what’s waiting for you on the other side. In said relationship, there were likely moments of real happiness. Intense love. Experiences you’ll never have again with anyone else. Maybe there was someone there, loving you the only way they knew how. But maybe the only way they knew how to love was causing harm—and leaving you with unmet emotional needs. And still, deep in your soul, you know there must be something better. Something safer. Something sacred. You can’t picture it. You can’t imagine it. The design doesn’t exist yet. So you walk—toward something unfamiliar and unseen—with a heart that’s been stomped on, again and again.

The Quiet Work of Grief

I save quotes, scriptures, and meaningful snapshots to my camera roll constantly. Thousands of photos and hundreds of videos live in my phone. I love scrolling through them and reflecting on the memories they hold. But sometimes, a picture will stop me in my tracks. The grief comes. And it isn’t always loud—it’s more like a sudden gasp, like the wind’s been knocked out of you.

There’s a photo I took of a sunset over the Gulf—absolutely breathtaking. Sun rays radiating up through the clouds. Anyone else would see light, peace, maybe even joy. But for me, that sunset is grief. It was the first holiday I spent post-divorce, without my children by my side. That sunset holds the story of me, sitting on a bench at the beach, crying hot tears and reckoning with the reality that not every holiday would include the tiny humans I love most.

Abuse survivors often live in that in-between space:

Holding the memory of something once deeply loved, while accepting it was never safe.

When Words Fail, Design Speaks

Many survivors can’t—or won’t—tell their stories out loud, especially at first.

Sometimes they’ve been conditioned to protect their abuser. Sometimes they’ve buried their pain so deep, they can’t find the words. Some don’t know the language for what they went through. Others are simply not ready. This is why creative expression matters. Journaling, music therapy, art therapy, even play therapy for children—these are sacred tools. They help survivors speak without needing to say it out loud.

And that’s where visual design becomes its own language:

• Color holds emotion. Soft hues for safety. Bold tones for strength.

• Space represents breathing room. Margin. Clarity after chaos.

• Icons or symbols—a flame, a path, a rising sun—can speak volumes without a single explanation.

Why This Matters in Our Work

At Ashes to Exodus, we’re designing everything—our logo, our brand, our curriculum, our physical spaces—with this truth in mind:

Not every woman is ready to speak. But she still deserves to be seen, heard, and loved.

That’s why we’re intentional with every detail. Our colors. Our visuals. Our tone. I’ve talked before how partnering with agencies like Neon Lizard Creative has helped us bring emotional depth to our design—never flashy, never shallow. Just deeply aware. For me personally, something as simple as the color pink represents love. It brings joy into dark places. That matters.

Full Circle: Grief, Healing, and Visual Language

“Grief serves as a shovel for the soul: It digs, mines, and excavates painfully, at times violently. But deep love enters those very same spaces. If we never allow ourselves to feel the pain of loss and betrayal, we will not feel the fullness of love.”

— Andrew J. Bauman

Ending a relationship that wasn’t meant for you makes space. A holy, hollowed-out space—ready to be filled with something deeper. Healthier. Truer. Instead of love surviving only in the margins and unspoken places, it can begin to overflow. What once felt like a scale of happiness from 1 to 10 becomes 1 to 100—with boundless potential. There is a language beyond words.

And sometimes, healing begins the moment we feel understood—even when we haven’t said a thing.

With Gratitude and Determination,