By Amanda Atlas | Future Marriage & Family Therapist
We don’t become our true selves in a single moment of clarity.
We become through a thousand small deaths—quiet, painful, and often invisible.
Carl Rogers, the father of person-centered therapy, believed in the actualizing tendency—a deep inner drive to become more fully ourselves. But what often gets overlooked is this: to grow, we must let go. We must release identities, roles, and illusions that no longer fit. That process can feel like a kind of death.
And for me, one of the biggest deaths was the end of my marriage.
I didn’t mourn the marriage itself.
I mourned the fantasy I had created.
Like many women, I entered marriage holding onto a vision. A white picket fence. A steady partner from a “good family.” The promise of stability. He came from a nuclear home; I didn’t. I thought that meant he knew how to “do marriage.” I thought I was doing what I should—not what actually made me feel whole.
But the truth was this: we were not building the same life.
He wanted obedience and tradition. I wanted equity, growth, and mutuality. And though I knew in my gut—even on our wedding day—that something wasn’t right, I stayed. I stayed because I believed I could fix it. That love meant enduring.
That was another painful truth:
“The curious paradox is that when I accept myself just as I am, then I can change.”
— Carl R. Rogers
I can’t change anyone.
And trying to do so only caused the slow death of parts of myself.
Grieving What Was Never Real
What hurt most wasn’t losing him.
It was realizing that I had built the illusion myself.
I had constructed a fantasy to survive. A version of love that felt safe—because it was familiar.
And I had to unmake it.
Unmaking a dream you created is one of the hardest emotional tasks we face.
But it was in this unraveling that I finally saw clearly.
I learned to stop projecting potential onto people.
I started seeing people for who they really are—not who I hoped they could become.
The Healing Process of Becoming
As I train to become a Marriage and Family Therapist, I’m learning that this kind of emotional healing isn’t linear. It’s layered. Messy. Brave.
And it doesn’t happen overnight.
But with every identity I’ve let go of—with every “death” I’ve walked through—I’ve become more rooted in who I truly am.
Today, I don’t cling to the illusion of control.
I don’t confuse comfort with love.
And I no longer abandon myself in the name of keeping peace.
If You’re Grieving a Fantasy Too…
Whether you’re navigating divorce, the end of a relationship, or a quiet reckoning with who you thought you’d be—please know: you are not alone.
This is the sacred, painful, powerful work of becoming.
And it is worth it.