Then one morning, I told myself, “The pity party is over, girl. It’s time to move on”

I was acing singlehood. I had close friends, a fulfilling job, and an active social life. I traveled the world and spent every Tishrei in Eretz Yisrael. Even though I was 33, I had plenty of dates.

What more could a girl want?

I’ll tell you what she wanted: a husband.

Years before, I’d returned from seminary in June and had my first date in July. Two years later, I got engaged to Guy #18. I was following the classic “frum success story.” Then the plot got messy.

As we planned a wedding together, issues emerged. Three weeks before my wedding, I needed to break off the engagement.

And just like that, my life fell apart.

We had planned to move to Eretz Yisrael, so I’d deferred my job, deferred school, and given up my apartment. When I walked away from my chassan, I was left with nothing: nowhere to live, nothing to do.

For two weeks, I couldn’t eat and couldn’t sleep. I barely left my room. I cried. A LOT.

Then one morning, I told myself, “The pity party is over, girl. It’s time to move on.”