The First Wives Club: Freebird, Bad Choices & a Glow-Up!

The First Wives Club stars Bette Midler, Goldie Hawn, and Diane Keaton as three women who reunite after divorce and realize they’ve lost more than their marriages — they’ve lost themselves. What starts as heartbreak quickly turns into friendship, revenge, and a glow-up that proves sometimes losing everything is exactly how you find your power again. And as they famously remind us: “Don’t get mad… get everything.” There’s something about The First Wives Club that hits different when you’ve actually lived through a few bad decisions and a man with a strong chin line and a motorcycle.

Back then, it was funny.

Now?

It’s a how-to guide with better hair and worse choices.

Because every woman eventually goes from:

💔 “I can fix this…”
to
🔥 “I will survive this…”
to
💅 “I might emotionally inconvenience you just a little on my way out.”

The “Bless Her Heart” Era

Fresh out of my divorce, I was naïve.

Like…
“If he says he’s different, he must be different,” naïve.

Spoiler alert:

He was not different.
He just had a different name and a slightly upgraded lie.

I didn’t just fall for it.

I hosted it. Catered it. Sent it home with leftovers.

The Audacity Tour

After a regular occurrence breakup, my ex — would casually cruise down my dead-end road.

Sir.

This road has:
• one house
• one regret
• and zero future or so I thought

You are not “just driving by.”

You are making emotional laps like it’s NASCAR for poor decisions.

The Farmhouse Meltdown

Let me set the scene:

Pigs.
Chickens.
A one-acre garden.
A 4,000 sq ft farmhouse with the insulation of a cardboard box.
A wood stove that needed feeding every three hours.

In winter.

With a child.

And a man who woke up one day and said:

“This isn’t working out.”

…and LEFT.

No meeting.
No discussion.
No “let’s fix this.”

Just… gone.

Like a bad haircut you paid too much for.

Meanwhile, I’m outside at 2 a.m. like:

“If I have to load this stove one more time, I’m putting myself up for adoption.”

That wasn’t heartbreak.

That was a frontier survival audition I did not sign up for.

So I sold everything.

Packed the car.

Moved to town.

Because I didn’t sign up for the new version of Oregon Trail to die of heartbreak and frostbite…
Not to mention the dysentery that was chasing me daily.

The “I Just Want to Be Wanted” Phase

Let’s not lie.

We’ve all had that phase.

Where your standards are less “standards” and more:

“Well… he texted back.”

Where red flags look like:

✨ potential ✨

And emotional chaos feels like:

✨ chemistry ✨

After my first marriage, my self-worth was on clearance.

Years of emotional abuse, comments about my weight, and stepping into the dating world with zero experience…

Yeah.

That’ll have you Googling confidence builders, buying new underwear, and keeping the lights off like it’s a witness protection program.

I didn’t want perfect.

I just wanted to feel chosen.

And that will have you making decisions that require:

• a deep breath
• a reality check
• and possibly a follow-up appointment with your OBGYN

The Wake-Up Call

There’s always a moment.

The morning after.

You sit up, stare at the wall, and think:

“Yeah… we’re never doing that again.”

That’s not growth.

That’s your inner voice finally grabbing a microphone.

The “Fine, I’ll Do It Myself” Era

At some point, I realized:

I wasn’t chasing a man.

I was chasing a feeling.

Confidence.
Strength.
Control.

So I became it.

Firearms class — check.
Conceal and carry permit — check.
Boxing & the Gym— check.
Motorcycle course — check.

(Yes, I wrecked the bike twice. Still passed. Character development… aggressively.)

Because if I were going to chase that bad boy type…

I at least needed to survive the storyline and bring confidence.

The Petty Phase (And I Stand By It)

Let’s not rewrite history.

I was not healed.

I was willing to step outside my box

There were biker rallies.
There were drinks.
There were beads.
Some choices needed supervision.

And one night I ran across the ex at a bar?

He played Freebird.

I followed it up with something so petty it should’ve been studied.

We DJ’d like it was emotional warfare.

Not saying one word, just one tune after another, saying everything that needed to be said.

And when I left?

I made sure he saw me walk out with someone.

Nothing happened.

But did I hear that Harley fly past my house later?

Yes.

Did I smile?

Also yes.

Because sometimes healing looks like peace…

…and sometimes it looks like:

“I hope that bothered you just enough.”

The Friends Who Survived Me

If The First Wives Club taught me anything…

It’s that women don’t rebuild alone.

We rebuild in groups, chaos, and slightly questionable decision-making committees.

But here’s the part no one prepares you for:

You lose people.

Divorce didn’t just take my marriage.

It took my friend group, too.

Suddenly, I wasn’t relatable.

I wasn’t safe.

I was the cautionary tale at girls’ night.

Some husbands looked at me like I was contagious.

Like independence might spread through eye contact.

So I lost people. Lucky for me, not the ones that mattered most, but a few.

Quietly.
Awkwardly.
Without a scene.

Just distance.

And that part?

That part hurt worse than the breakup.

Rebuilding My Own Damn Club

So I rebuilt.

Now almost 30!

Before apps.
Before, “finding your tribe” was a personality trait.
Before it was normal to say:

“Hi, I’m emotionally rebuilding my life — want to be friends?”

And the women I found?

They were not surface-level.

They were earned.

I had:

• a friend for tears & tissues
• a friend for rage bait & bond money
• and a friend who said, “Let’s get drunk and ruin his confidence.”

(Teamwork makes the dream work.)

Growth (But Make It Messy)

My friends didn’t always stop me.

They didn’t always agree.

But they stayed.

They watched me:

• spiral
• recover
• repeat
• and finally learn

And instead of leaving, they just sat there like:

“She’s gonna learn today.”

And eventually?

I did.

What Winning Looks Like Now

Winning used to be:

Being chosen.

Now?

Winning looks like:

Coffee & Quiet mornings.
Bike Trips & Spa Days

Standing next to the man, I once couldn’t figure out the playlist to send him packing…

That same “bad boy biker with a chip on his shoulder, and a fear of farming”?

Plot twist.

He grew up.

So did I.

And somehow we met in the middle again.

Married.
Stronger.
Still a little chaotic.

But real. And I Ride Bitch for Everyone’s Safety!

Final Thought From The Rekindle Room

If I could go back and tell myself one thing:

Stop.
Trust yourself.
You are enough.

Because the truth is…

No one ever owned me.

Not the ex’s.
Not the chaos.
Not the version of me that thought I needed permission.

🎶 And if my life had a theme song moment?

It would still be:

“You Don’t Own Me.”

But now?

It’s not about a man.

It’s about every thought that ever made me feel small, that mental block I placed on myself.

— JC 👠🔥