I divorced my husband, Soren, after he cheated, and I swore I never wanted to hear his name again. So when my sister announced she was naming her baby Soren, it felt like reopening a wound I’d worked hard to heal. To her, it was just a strong, meaningful name—but to me, it carried betrayal, heartbreak, and months of rebuilding myself.
We stopped speaking for weeks. I felt abandoned all over again, this time by my own sister. But when she went into labor, I showed up. Holding my newborn nephew changed something in me, even though hearing his name still hurt. I realized the pain wasn’t about the name—it was about unfinished healing.
Therapy helped me see that I’d been blaming myself for my failed marriage. Slowly, I began letting go. Over time, the name lost its power. My nephew gave it a new meaning—one rooted in innocence, love, and fresh beginnings.
Then I ran into my ex. When he asked my nephew’s name, I said it without flinching. And in that moment, I knew I’d truly moved on.
Healing doesn’t erase the past—it redefines it. Sometimes, the very thing that hurts us becomes the reason we finally let go.
