Who is Angie Marie? Part 1 of my Story

Embracing all facets of my identity with joy and authenticity.

I’ve written this story more times than I can count over the past two years. Each time, I peel back another layer, gaining a little more clarity on why I walked away from the life I built and stepped into the unknown.

If you’re here, reading this blog, you’re probably wondering: Who is Angie Marie? What is Reauthenticated? And why should you care?

Five years ago, my 20-year marriage ended. Completely blindsided, I had no idea it was coming. We didn’t really fight, we built a comfortable life together, and from the outside, it looked like we had it all. I took care of everything—our home, our dogs, our meals. I always joked that I did everything except wipe his ass and shave his head. And I was fine with that because, after a childhood of extreme poverty and instability, I had more than I ever dreamed of.

At the time, we were in the best financial position we’d ever been in. We had just opened a mortgage company. We were pursuing our dreams. We lived in my dream home.

And then, one Friday night at dinner, he casually mentioned that he wasn’t happy and wanted to take a break.After 20 years?!

My first thought wasn’t another woman. His estranged father had just passed away, and I assumed he was struggling emotionally. So, I gave him space.

He moved out for six weeks, came back with an apologetic letter promising never to do it again. Two months later, on the day our paralyzed dog passed away, he asked me to move out.

But… he gave me hope. He said it wasn’t permanent. That we just weren’t in love and he wanted to date me again, to fall back in love.

So, I fought for our marriage. We went to counseling, together and separately. And then came the excuses—our lives were boring, I didn’t dress sexy enough, I had “let myself go.” If you know me personally, you’d know how absurd that was. He even had the audacity to say my breasts weren’t big enough, despite me having undergone five augmentation surgeries.

Through it all, my best friend was my rock—my shoulder to cry on, my sounding board, my distraction. She thought like a man, which helped me find some logic in my emotional whirlwind. She also spent a lot of time with us, especially during the pandemic. Too much time, in hindsight.

But something shifted. My husband started turning into someone I didn’t recognize. Or maybe, for the first time, I was seeing him for who he really was.

With space from him, I began rediscovering myself—making friends, laughing, enjoying my own company. And when I took a step back, the fog lifted. I saw the red flags. The inappropriate conversations with other women. The things I had ignored. The things my friends had tried to warn me about.

I fought for my marriage for almost a year. And then, one night, I reached that place some of you know too well—resentment. The moment you know you’re done. I made one last effort, asking for some kind of connection, some kind of affection. His response? IN AN EMAIL......

“You are the best person I know, and you need to move on and find what makes you happy. I know I can’t be that person for you anymore.”

That was it. The words I needed to hear. And almost as if the universe knew I was finally free.

Then very next day, I got a text from a friend checking up on me.

“Hey Dude, how are you?”

His name is Milo. A longtime friend and client. Someone I had always felt safe around, authentic, never with an agenda or disrespect. And as I responded, I had no idea that text was about to change my life forever…

(To be continued in Part 2…)