“At times, the individual you care about the most becomes the one who imparts the most difficult lesson about yourself.” ~Unknown
I once thought that being in a relationship required giving up parts of who I am for love.
I lingered when I ought to have departed.
I excused without healing.
I muted myself rather than speaking out, relinquishing my voice, boundaries, and emotional security. I ceased articulating my needs to prevent discord and diminished my feelings to avoid being seen as “too much,” creating a gap between myself and my confident, joyous, secure self.
In the process, I forgot my identity.
Oblivious, I found myself in a toxic relationship where love blurred with manipulation, control, and irregularity. It wasn’t entirely negative, making it difficult to leave, but the extreme ups and downs perpetually left my nervous system unsettled.
The Cycle I Failed to Recognize
It always started with charm. After an argument, he would apologize for his actions, vow to communicate better, reassure me that I was “the one,” and claim he didn’t want to lose me, making me feel selected once more.
Then came the criticism. He would label me as excessively sensitive or assert that I misunderstood him. When I articulated needs or established boundaries, his affability vanished, replaced by coldness and silence.
Eventually, the eruption: exhausting arguments followed by yet another cycle of apologies and affection.
This cycle ensnared me. It was no longer solely about the relationship; it revolved around demonstrating my worth. I believed if I became “better,” perhaps the love would stabilize.
Why We Remain
Reflecting on it now, I ponder: Why did I persist? Why do we frequently stay in damaging relationships?
The reality is, toxic relationships don’t commence as toxic. They often begin with intensity, passion, and deep connections. The initial bond feels so powerful that when things shift, we convince ourselves it’s only temporary.
We also linger out of fear—fear of solitude, starting anew, or thinking this is the best we’ll ever attain.
More profound than fear, there exists often a wound. Mine was the notion of not being enough. This belief didn’t stem from this relationship; it was molded by past experiences and accompanied me here. It was reinforced over time, with every dismissal and inconsistency reaffirming a familiar narrative. This belief led me to accept crumbs when I truly deserved a full banquet.
The Turning Point
One evening, following yet another altercation, I found myself weeping on the bathroom floor. Gazing into the mirror, I didn’t recognize the individual looking back.
I was drained, constantly anxious, unfocused at work, and my friendships had waned. My existence had narrowed to the dimensions of this relationship.
Then a simple question arose: If nothing ever changed, could I endure the rest of my life this way?
The answer was a painful but indisputable no.
This marked the commencement of my healing, not the instant conclusion of the relationship, but the onset of reclaiming my identity.
What Leaving Truly Entailed
Departing a toxic relationship isn’t a solitary moment.
It’s a process. A chaotic, emotional, back-and-forth struggle.
The most challenging aspect wasn’t packing; it was wrestling with my own thoughts: Am I overreacting? Will I find love again? Will he change once I exit? Am I making an error?
There was guilt, fear, and unexpectedly… grief.
Even in unhealthy relationships, attachment is tangible, hope is substantial, and memories are authentic. Letting go felt akin to mourning a version of myself that never genuinely existed.
What aided the process?
Support.
I reached out to two dear friends who reminded me of the person I was prior to the relationship. Their support anchored me and offered perspective.
Space.
I limited interaction—not out of rage, but for self-preservation. Steering clear of locales he frequented and avoiding discussions that dragged me back into drama,