I Was Erased By My Friends, My Family, and My Faith - And I Would Do It All Again
- Aug 28, 2025
- 2 min read
By Laura Aiello
When I was 40 when I walked away from everything—an abusive marriage and a high-control religious group that cut off all contact the second I left. That choice cost me my marriage, my parents, my community, and every friendship I thought I had. If I had to point to one moment in that entire chapter of my life that changed everything, it was the day my ex-husband’s things were supposed to be picked up from my house.
I had an order of protection, so he couldn’t come himself. We had agreed through our lawyers that he’d send six people, with a few exclusions to who could show up. Instead, almost the entire congregation showed up. People I’d cooked for. Prayed with. Opened my home to. I had everything packed in the garage, trying to make it easy.
A police officer was there—just in case. He planned to stay maybe 15 minutes. He ended up staying much longer. He said he’d never seen anything like it - he was concerned for my safety!
The second I opened the garage door, they rushed in. One of them disabled the door so I couldn’t close it. Others tried to get into my house, even down into the basement. No one said a word to me. Not one person asked how I was. They looked right through me.
That moment wrecked me. These were people I thought were friends. People I had trusted. People I had helped, supported and been there for when they needed it. And now they were treating me like I didn’t even exist. Like I was disposable. It made me question everything I had been taught—about friendship, loyalty, community, even love. And it forced me to admit that I had built my entire support system on conditions and control, not care.
That’s when something in me shifted. I realized I never wanted to feel that kind of isolation again. I didn’t just lose a marriage—I lost the entire foundation I thought my life was built on. And while it was devastating, it was also a turning point.
That was the moment I started asking myself what real friendship actually means. What kind of relationships I wanted going forward. Who I wanted to be in those relationships. It took time, and a lot of trial and error, but I eventually rebuilt a community that’s grounded in respect and authenticity, not obligation.
Now, that experience is the reason I do the work I do. I work with women who’ve hit a similar wall—who’ve outgrown shallow friendships or are realizing the people around them don’t really see them. Women in midlife who’ve poured themselves into everyone else and are now looking around wondering, “Where’s my support?”
Everything I create—retreats, courses, coaching—is rooted in the belief that we are meant for deeper connection. Not performative friendships, not just shared history. Actual presence. Actual care.
That day in the garage was brutal. But it was also the beginning. It showed me exactly what I no longer wanted—and planted the seed for everything I’ve built since.
And honestly, I wouldn't change it. It was the wake-up call I didn’t know I needed.
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