There was a time I would’ve done anything to make him stay.
I bent. I broke. I swallowed the pain and made excuses for things that had no business being excused. I told myself that what he did wasn’t that bad. That maybe I was too sensitive. That maybe if I just loved harder, tried harder, gave more—he’d stop hurting me.
But here’s the truth: there is nothing minor about cheating. Nothing casual about betrayal. Nothing harmless about telling someone you love them while lying straight through your teeth. And yet, he walked around like he didn’t leave scars. Like his actions didn’t burn down parts of me I’m still rebuilding.
He had an excuse for everything. “I was going through something.” “You weren’t there for me the way I needed.” “I didn’t mean for it to happen.” But not once—not once—did he look me in the eye and say, “I was wrong.” That kind of accountability never showed up. Only deflection and pity parties that he threw for himself, with invitations sent to anyone who would listen to his twisted version of our story.
He told his friends and his family that he was the one who tried. That I was cold, difficult, ungrateful. And they believed him. They sat there and told him that I’d regret losing someone like him.
Funny, isn’t it? How people can crown a villain king just because he knows how to cry on command.
The thing is—I didn’t lose a damn thing. He lost someone who gave him every chance. Someone who believed in him, even when he was unrecognizable. I lost a manipulator, a gaslighter, a man who turned love into a battlefield and always made me the enemy.
I needed to lose him to find myself.
I needed to hate him to love me.
Because somewhere in the mess, I forgot who I was. I forgot that love doesn’t require self-erasure. That it isn’t supposed to make you question your worth or beg for bare-minimum respect. I forgot that I deserve someone who doesn’t make me feel hard to love. Someone who doesn’t use past trauma as a hall pass to destroy everything in his present.
To anyone out there holding on to someone who keeps tearing you down: Let go.
Let go of the person who only says sorry when they feel like they’re losing control. Let go of the one who paints themselves the hero in every story, even when they’re the one who set the fire. Let go of the version of love that only thrives when you're shrinking yourself to survive it.
You are not too much. You are not impossible to love. You’re just giving your heart to someone who doesn’t know what to do with something so real.
You don’t need their apology to move forward.
You don’t need their validation to feel whole.
And you don’t need to keep bleeding for someone who never even brought you a bandage.
This pain—it taught me boundaries.
This heartbreak—it gave me clarity.
And this loss? It gave me me.
So no, I don’t regret losing him. I only regret not choosing myself sooner.
If this hits home for you, just know: walking away isn’t weakness—it’s the bravest kind of love. The kind you give yourself.
Healing isn’t pretty, but damn is it powerful.