I Lost Myself Along the Way

I have always been the kind of person who believed that there were certain things I would never tolerate; no matter how much I loved someone.

I told myself that I would never lower myself for a man. That the moment I saw even a single sign of betrayal, I would walk away. No explanations needed, no second chances, no looking back. I knew my worth, or at least I thought I did, and I believed that loving someone would never be enough reason for me to abandon the standards I had set for myself.

I was so sure of the person I was. I was so sure of the things I would and would never do.

And then I fell in love.

Or perhaps, more accurately, I found myself in a situation where love, comfort, attachment, and the hope of what could be made it difficult for me to see what was already happening.

I did the very thing I promised myself I never would.

I stayed.

Not just once, but over and over again. I gave chances I once swore I would never give. I accepted apologies, entertained explanations if there were any, or waited for them to come but they never did; and convinced myself that perhaps this time would be different. I kept telling myself that there would come a day when the betrayal would stop, when the relationship would finally become what I had always hoped it could be.

I held on to a future that kept asking me to endure a present that was hurting me.

And for a long time, I wondered how I could have let myself become someone I never thought I would be.

But the truth is, it was not as simple as knowing when to leave.

Because how do you walk away from something that still gives you moments of happiness? How do you let go of someone you can call at the end of a long day, someone you can make plans with, and someone whose presence has become part of your routine? How do you leave the comfort of having someone beside you, even when that same person is the reason you spend so many nights questioning yourself?

There were good days. There were moments when I was genuinely happy. There was comfort in knowing I had someone to spend time with, someone to talk to, and someone who made life feel a little less lonely.

And perhaps that was what made leaving so difficult. I was not unhappy every single day. If I had been, maybe walking away would have been easier.

Instead, I kept holding on to the good moments as proof that the bad ones might eventually disappear.

I kept thinking about what we could become instead of looking at what we already were.

But at what cost?

The betrayals did not stop. The promises I wanted to believe in did not become the future I imagined. And somewhere along the way, I began losing things I never thought I would sacrifice for anyone.

My sanity. My health. My peace of mind. My confidence in my own judgment.

I began questioning the decisions I made, the feelings I had, and even my ability to recognize what was good for me. I knew what was happening, yet I kept finding reasons to stay. I knew I was hurting, yet I kept convincing myself that the pain might eventually lead to something better.

Despite the warnings, I stayed.

Despite the people who cared about me telling me to call it off, I stayed.

Even when my psychiatrist and OB-GYN advised me to stop putting myself through the situation, I stayed.

Looking back, that is one of the hardest things to come to terms with. There were people who could see how much I was struggling, people who wanted me to choose myself, and yet I could not bring myself to do what seemed so obvious to everyone else.

It is easy to ask, “Why didn't I just leave?”

I have asked myself that question more times than I can count.

But I am learning that knowing something is hurting you and being emotionally ready to let it go are two very different things. Sometimes, you can recognize that something is destroying you and still struggle to imagine your life without it. Sometimes, the fear of losing what makes you happy in certain moments becomes greater than the fear of what staying might continue to cost you.

And sometimes, you become so attached to the possibility of things getting better that you forget to ask yourself how much longer you are willing to suffer while waiting.

I thought there would be a future where the betrayals no longer existed. A future where I would no longer have to question anything, where I could finally feel secure, where all the chances I had given would somehow make sense because we would have made it through everything.

But that future never came.

The betrayals continued, and so did my willingness to forgive them. Every time I swallowed the hurt, I swallowed a little bit of my pride, too. Every time I moved my boundaries to make room for another chance, I made it easier to ignore the standards I had once held so firmly.

Eventually, I was no longer just tolerating things I had promised myself I never would.

I was tolerating a version of my life in which I no longer recognized myself.

I threw my pride away. I compromised my self-respect. I put so much of myself into trying to save something that I forgot I was also someone worth saving.

And perhaps the most painful realization was that I had become the person I once promised myself I would never be—not because I did not know better, but because knowing better did not immediately give me the strength to do better for myself.

For a while, I was angry at myself for that.

I wondered how I could have let someone else's actions affect me so deeply. How could I have abandoned my own standards? How could I have allowed the fear of losing someone to become more powerful than the need to protect myself?

But I no longer want to look at that version of myself with nothing but disappointment.

She was struggling. She was attached. She was hopeful. She wanted things to work out so badly that she kept believing in a possibility that reality repeatedly failed to support.

She was trying to hold on to happiness, even when holding on was costing her the very things that made her feel whole.

I can acknowledge that she made decisions that hurt her without treating her as someone undeserving of compassion.

Because I know what it is like to be that person now.

And I know how difficult it was to find my way back.                                         

I am doing better now.

Not in the way people sometimes say they are doing better just to avoid explaining what they have been through. I mean that I can genuinely feel the difference between the life I was living then and the life I am living now.

I have regained the weight I lost. I feel more stable than I have in a long time. I have been genuinely happy lately, and there is something beautiful about experiencing happiness without feeling as though it could disappear at any moment because of someone else's choices.

I am returning to the hobbies I once enjoyed but no longer had the mental strength to pursue. I am finding pleasure in things that used to feel ordinary. I am making room for parts of myself that had been pushed aside while I was busy trying to keep a relationship together.

Even my therapy schedule has changed. What used to be twice a month has become once every four months, reflecting the progress I have made in my own journey. I know that healing is not measured by the number of sessions I attend, and I know that needing support is never something to be ashamed of. Still, it means something to recognize how far I have come from where I once was.

For the first time in a long time, I feel like I am returning to myself.

I have regained a sense of self-worth. I have regained my self-respect. I am learning to trust my decisions again, and I no longer feel the same need to sacrifice my peace just to keep someone in my life.

I am learning that I can be happy on my own. That I can have plans, hobbies, meaningful conversations, and beautiful days without needing a particular person to be part of them. That companionship is a wonderful thing, but it should not come at the expense of my well-being.

Most importantly, I am learning that I do not have to hate the person I was to appreciate the person I am becoming.

I cannot change the fact that I stayed. I cannot take back the chances I gave or the things I tolerated. I cannot recover the time I spent hoping that someone would stop hurting me.

But I can decide what I will do with everything I have learned.

And one thing I know for certain is that I do not want to put myself in that situation ever again.

Not because I want to become cold. Not because I want to stop believing in love. Not because I think that people are incapable of changing or that relationships should never require patience, forgiveness, and understanding.

But because I now understand the difference between working through difficulties with someone and repeatedly hurting myself in the hope that they will eventually stop hurting me.

I can love someone and still recognize that the relationship is not good for me. I can miss someone and still know that going back is not what I need. I can remember the beautiful moments without allowing them to erase the painful ones.

And I can forgive the person I was without making the same choices again.            

There is something humbling about becoming someone you once swore you would never be.

It forces you to confront the limits of your own certainty. It teaches you that having standards is one thing, but learning how to uphold them when your heart is involved is another. It shows you that you can know your worth in theory and still struggle to protect it when you are afraid of losing someone you love.

I used to think that my strength would be proven by how quickly I could walk away from betrayal.

Now, I understand that strength is not always that simple. Sometimes, it takes time to recognize what you are losing. Sometimes, you need to live through the consequences of your choices before you fully understand why you need to make a different one. Sometimes, the lesson is not that you should have known better, but that you deserve the chance to know better now.

I did something I said I would never do.

I stayed when I said I would leave. I forgave when I said I would not. I compromised standards I thought were unshakable, and I lost pieces of myself trying to preserve something I desperately wanted to work.

I will not pretend that none of it happened. It happened, and it changed me.

But it did not get to keep me.

I am here now, living a life that feels lighter, rediscovering the things that make me happy, and rebuilding the relationship I have with myself. I am no longer the person I was during those difficult years, and I am grateful that I gave myself the chance to become someone different.

Maybe I will always remember the things I tolerated. Maybe there will always be a part of me that wishes I had chosen myself sooner.

But I do not want my story to end with regret over the person I was when I was hurting.

I want it to continue with the person I am now that I am healing.

Because, in the end, the most important thing is not that I once abandoned the standards I set for myself.

It is that I found my way back to them.

And this time, I know what it cost me to lose myself.

I do not intend to pay that price again.