When I was younger, I was told that I have a big heart. It was meant to be a compliment. I didn’t anticipate that having a big heart would lead to putting up with bad behavior for the sake of loving someone.
I’d grown up watching My Fair Wedding with David Tutera, shipping Alex and Mason from Wizards of Waverly Place, and reading romance novels. Mostly, these were just attachments that I could get excited about. Nevertheless, there’s only so much of that type of media my adolescent mind could take without storing some part of that romance as hope for the future.
My parents aren’t together. I’m not sad about it. I don’t think it’s a sad thing that happened. In fact, I’m an advocate for divorce. However, part of witnessing their relationship was embedded in parts of me that I hadn’t realized until I was in a relationship of my own.
By watching my parents and consuming various types of media, I had a good idea of the type of relationship I’d want to have. When my friends glazed over in talking about boys as crushes, and later as boyfriends, I didn’t see the hype. I might’ve thought it was nice, but after hearing the things they dismissed, I wasn’t impressed. If anything, it further affirmed the things that I didn’t want in a relationship. Things I was sure I wouldn’t let slide with a partner of my own.
For the most part, that was true. Mostly because the situations I found myself in weren’t the common ones my friends would list off. That didn’t make them any less bad. That didn’t make my choice to stay any less confusing. For me, the fact that it wasn’t common made me hold on tighter to the version of what I knew. Yes, I should break up with him. Yes, no normal person would think to treat someone like that. Yes, someone who cared about me would consider me. They didn’t care that he was there for me basically 24/7. It didn’t matter that he’d bought my favorite cologne just because. So what if he pumped my gas and tied my shoe that one time?
The good didn’t outweigh the bad. The bad didn’t mean he was a horrible person, but he wasn’t great either. He tried the best that he could, he really did. I thought that meant something. However, his “best” wasn’t the best for our relationship. Truth is, he was scared. His flaws and familial baggage were larger than I would’ve ever thought. And so, I was patient and understanding. I really did handle him with kid gloves because I thought space would warrant reflection and growing. It didn’t.
I knew that the longer I was with him, the harder it’d be to leave. But what was I supposed to do? If I knew how to act, and the people around me knew how to act as compassionate, considering people, he’d have to get that eventually. Right? I clung onto that so hard. I just couldn’t imagine someone never reflecting, never analyzing their behavior or patterns that come from their family. Even when I was being disrespected and disregarded by his family, he defended them and made excuses. He did the same thing with his friends. When I did something minuscule and those closest to him said something about it, he questioned my intention and didn’t make excuses for me.
The one person who’s supposed to be by my side, who’s supposed to put me first, who’s supposed to choose me…when that didn’t happen, it messed with my mind in ways I can’t even explain. Things I didn’t doubt before became my insecurities. When I cried, and he said nothing, part of me knew that wasn’t a good sign, and yet the other part of me gave him grace to try to find the way to respond. (Spoiler alert, he never did.)
But love. He loved me. That’s what he said. Within the first few months, I knew I would drown if I didn’t get off the sinking ship. I was so ready to break up with him and leave it behind me. My first relationship not working out wouldn’t be that big of a deal if it were only a few months. A few months turned into three years.
I dismissed what I knew was wrong because he wasn’t lacking in every area. He planned a surprise party for me, didn’t care that I talked badly about men, and didn’t care how revealing my clothes were. I didn’t have to change. I could be as outspoken and bold as I wanted. I thought, wow. I found a good one. The bare minimum is a type of commodity that’s hard to find these days. I also didn’t realize that the more I was being tested, the more my inner self was reworking itself. It didn’t have to be an outward change to be altered.
As the relationship progressed, part of me was scared that I wouldn’t be able to find someone else who didn’t care that I was like that. The other part was scared of being alone. Not alone without a partner, just alone. I had a falling out with the few friends that I had when we started dating, and while I made new friends along the way, I wasn’t the go-to person they went to hang out with. I reached out to them, and we found time, but they ultimately had their own friend group and other priorities to attend to. He was the only person I felt I could rely on.
I knew I didn’t want to be with him or the relationship any longer. I just didn’t know how to leave. By the end of it, I was so drained I didn’t have the energy to end it. I didn’t have the energy for anything. Imagine my surprise when he was the one who ended up ending things. I didn’t think he was having a great time in the relationship either, but I was the one who vocalized what I thought about our relationship, and he was always there to reassure me that it would get better. For him to rip the band-aid off was something I couldn’t bear.
I wasn’t chosen.
Even though I knew I wouldn’t be chosen, that hope never went away, no matter how small it was. I felt nauseous every day. I was more miserable out of the relationship than I was in the relationship, if you can believe it. No one was texting me, no one was checking in on me. I had no one to turn to. And no, it wasn’t because I chose a boy over all my friends. As I said before, they all had friends they were closer to, and they didn’t live close to me. It was awful. It was brutal.
I never pictured going through a breakup, but when I was going through it, a part of me died knowing that it wasn’t like the movies. My friends weren’t over to comfort me and stuff our faces with ice cream. Whenever I thought it was getting better, I’d get struck with emotion that had me gasping for air and shaking. I felt like my heartbreak was ruining everything. I couldn’t tell anyone what I was going through, I couldn’t explain things they weren’t aware of from the relationship. Not only was I carrying the weight of a broken heart, but I was also carrying the consequences of his actions.
In the recovery, I had to start from the beginning. Who was I before I met him? Thankfully, my exterior life was still the same. I could still do whatever I wanted, and besides a lack of messages, my routine didn’t change one bit after we broke up. The biggest difference was that he was no longer the one who could be there for me. He dumped me over the phone, and I still wanted him. I didn’t recognize him at all, and yet I yearned for him to reach out. For the first time in a long while, I had to completely self-soothe.
As one can imagine, not one part of it was easy. I had my sister and mom around me, which helped, but only so much. I didn’t want to talk to them about it, given that I knew they felt he was never good for me. I stuck to my routine, and I found a quiet place to let my feelings out. Every time I had a good memory that tried to convince me something was my fault, I had to quickly squash it and replace it with a memory of when he’d hurt me. Repeatedly.
While I didn’t feel like I could be open with my family about it, I took in how grateful I am to have them. Recognizing that I have things in my life that he’ll never have was such a crucial thing to put into perspective. I have a family that values and respects me, something he’ll never have. I have a safe space to express my feelings and know they’ll listen to me and amend. I had a great job and school lined up.
Everything we planned, I made happen. Not him. That was a major thought that kept me rooted in reality. The path to healing was never straight, even when I was beginning to think it was. Taking a step back and recentering myself made the world of a difference. I love my life, and I love the life that I’m building. I love the life I’m pursuing in a new city, the friends I’ve made, and the relationships I have back home.
It’s been a year now, and it might not feel that way, given the fact that most of this was focused on the feelings of the past, as if it just happened. That’s the thing that I don’t think people really consider. You can be over the person and never want anything to do with them, but certain things leave a scar. Time moves forward, and so did I. So will you. Only you can get yourself out of it, and I hope you do, because it is truly so much better on the other side.