Journal of a Survivor

It was the spring of 1988. I was working in a restaurant in my hometown in Romania. I was very young and, although I was extremely beautiful, smart, resourceful, and hardworking, I wasn’t yet aware of it. I would only discover it much later.

One day, a group of young men sat down at a table. But one of them immediately caught my eye. I believe it was love at first sight. I wasn’t supposed to serve that table, but a more experienced colleague was. Still, he asked if I could be the one to serve them.

When I approached, as I usually did, I greeted them and asked what they wanted. And then the young man who had caught my attention said first:
“I’d like you to marry me.”

I was speechless. Everyone at the table burst into laughter, except for him. I was stunned. In that moment, I felt something like a current, a spell, a miracle. I wished I could pause life and shout quickly: “YES!”.

Everyone understood it was love at first sight. And so it remained – a love that lasted twelve years. We married a few months later, and I loved him passionately. A passion like in Hollywood movies. I loved him from that very second, and in a way, I still love him today, 37 years later, with the same intensity.

I have always wondered why love doesn’t mean the same thing to both people, and why it doesn’t manifest with the same intensity in a relationship. Everything seemed like a dream, especially in the first years. And what more could we have wished for than the fruit of our love – a child?

We were known as one of the most beautiful couples in our town, but the child never came. We went to doctors, and after many tests, I was told I couldn’t have children. Soon after, I found out he was cheating on me. And then he started drinking.

Every time I wanted to end the relationship, he told me it was the last time, that he loved only me. And I believed him. We started over, again and again.

Until one day, when an Israeli man asked me if I wanted to move and work in Israel. And so, at 34, I packed my bags and left. I was still beautiful, still desired, but also hunted in my hometown by influential men because I refused to become their mistress. That’s how many things were solved in Romania back then.

The very day I boarded the plane, he moved his mistress into my place. I found out later. He died on my birthday, three years ago. And before he died, he sent me a song telling me that I was the only woman he had truly loved his entire life.

This was my first and great love. A story like in a movie, but also a deep wound. And yet, from that wound came my rebirth. I left, I moved forward, I kept searching for the light.

Today I know that losses are part of life. And often, they open the path to who you are meant to become.

But my love story doesn’t end here… what happened next would change my life forever. Believe me, you won’t want to miss the continuation.

And now I ask you:
Have you ever lived a love that changed your life, but that ended by leaving you stronger instead of weaker?
Share your story here, on the blog – because every love, even lost, leaves a lesson worth telling.