TW: possibly depression and mental health struggles, fibroid surgery (no details), fertility, and lying
Dinner is a slice of sourdough bread with honey mustard, some cucumbers, stir-fried beech mushrooms, cottage cheese and pickled ginger.
This is so long, I'm sorry. I just had to get it all out, but if you wanna you can skip to the last few paragraphs, I have my conclusions and what I think I'm learning from this.
Ladies, why do we stay so long after we should have left? Why does it sometimes take THEM leaving us for us to finally be set free? I know this is not the case for all of us, but I’ve been lurking on this sub for the past few weeks of recovery at home, and I’m shocked by the number of stories similar to mine. It’s been comforting and saddening at the same time.
My surgery was a couple of weeks ago. I’d been planning it for a while, mainly because of fertility. I had one large and a few smaller fibroids in my uterus, which didn’t cause many symptoms (low iron and occasional discomfort) but would make getting pregnant difficult or lead to a complicated pregnancy. I want to be a mother so bad, and at 33, I felt like I didn’t have much time to lose. I tried everything to get them to shrink before surgery: herbs, traditional Chinese medicine, acupuncture, because I knew that, given their location, having the surgery would mean I could only deliver via C-section, on top of the general risks that come with any surgery.
I also had some trauma related to surgery, as my dad had cancer when I was young and went through multiple surgeries. I figured this out in psychoanalysis, which helped me face my fear and opt for an open myomectomy. Because if I am to be a mother someday, what matters is mine and my child’s safety, not how they came into this world. It was a major decision for me personally, and I was supposedly supported by my partner (M41) through it all.
The relationship history:
We met on a dating app 4 and a half years ago, and at first, I was impressed by him. Such a cutie with kind eyes. He had recently left a relationship of over 15 years, which seemed like a good sign that he was capable of long-term commitment. Retrospectively, though, the almost nonexistent break between relationships (even though they were in an open relationship by the end) should have been a red flag.
He was an older guy but still an artsy soft boy, which has always been my type (I'm a Latina repulsed by macho men lol). He seemed like a good choice, someone who had more figured out than me: a great career in tech, animals he took great care of, interesting hobbies, played music, loved cycling, similar tastes in art and music, and the same morals and values. The connection was so strong; we truly had sparks. And I knew he was also crazy about me in every way possible. You know when you can see it by the way they look at you? I could feel it back then, something I had never felt before. And I was just sooo physically attracted to him. Sexual chemistry was amazing, and I felt 100% safe and myself with him. The first couple of years truly healed some previous bad experiences and abuse that had kept me closed off to love before him. We wanted the same things, we dreamed about our future, we imagined our children, we imagined our plans. The problem was that we just never really planned our plans. But we had so many beautiful moments together, so much fun, never had a silent meal together, always filled with laughter and good conversation. I thought we had time to figure it all out.
Slowly, I realized he wasn’t as mature as I’d initially thought. He struggled with both making plans and being objective, rarely imposed his will, always went along with whatever I decided, and avoided saying when things bothered him to prevent confrontation. Meanwhile, I’m very action-oriented, with lots of thoughts and tastes, so it’s easy for me to have ideas and make plans. But I also wanted a partnership where both people made things happen, where I could be surprised or pampered from time to time. He also had a lot of family trauma and a very different childhood experience from mine. It took him a long time to introduce me to his family, and even when he did, he kept things distant. But I was so empathetic. I knew how much he had to work through from his past, but so much empathy turned out to be my downfall later on.
Eventually, it became clear that he was struggling with his mental health. I want to be careful here because he never got a proper diagnosis, but to me, as a non-expert, it looked like textbook depression, and it came in cycles. He would become so low that he wanted to isolate, say bad things about himself, struggle with eating and sleeping, and stare at me with blank eyes. In no way am I saying people with depression can't be in relationships or improve. In fact, I believed and still believe the opposite. Looking back, I think that if it had simply been that, things could have worked out. But the reasons they didn't were more complex and profound, and I still don't really understand.
There were signs before, of course, like cancelling plans or backtracking at the last minute to self-isolate. Still, we wanted to follow our plans, and he moved into my place because his lease was ending, so we could find a bigger place later (I know, I know). Things got worse, and I tried hard to get him back into therapy, to a doctor, or to my holistic practitioner if nothing else, but he refused. He decided to break things off to get better and moved back to his parents' place in his hometown, 4 hours away. He left me to deal with everything alone, and I moved to a new place by myself. I was crushed and heartbroken. I couldn't see a future without him, and I couldn't possibly think there was a better match for me. I was sure we could get through the challenge together and that he could get better. A few months later, he came back doing much better, and we eventually got back together. We stayed long-distance, and I could see a lot of improvements (or I fooled myself into seeing them).
By the end of the year, he moved back in with me at my tiny new place so we could look for a bigger one together again (I KNOOW). It took six months to find one because I was doing most of the work while he focused on work and promotions. I was proud of him for doing so well at work, but I was also doing most of the emotional and organizational labour in the relationship. I kept communicating about it, and he was understanding and agreed with me. He never gaslit me or anything like that, but the improvements were so small, and I started building resentment. I was tired as well. I couldn't really focus on my personal projects because all the things between us seemed to be up to me to make happen. But I just couldn't see it back then: how I was centralizing the relationship in my life, something that, as a young feminist a few years back, I promised myself I would never do.
We eventually found the perfect apartment and signed the contract, with the move planned for a month later. He was hesitant, but I told him I couldn't keep living in a cramped apartment and needed to move forward with our plans and goals. I basically said that if we didn't do this, I couldn't see a way forward anymore. Moving in together had been our joint plan, and he'd promised he wanted it. I didn't think it was an ultimatum but rather me setting boundaries. He said he didn't want to separate, so we went ahead.
The lie and everything going to shit:
Some of his depressive symptoms were still there, so I strongly insisted that he return to therapy and get support that wasn't just me. I was doing my own psychoanalysis, and my analyst recommended someone she knew. I gave him the number, and he scheduled an appointment and started going, or so I thought.
After we signed the contract, he said he needed some time to get himself together and come back to himself, so he went to stay at his friend's empty apartment while his friend was abroad. I tried to be understanding. Maybe I was too controlling about how I wanted him to take care of himself and us, and maybe he needed to find his own way forward. But the communication was shit, and I started spiralling. That's when I finally realized we were stuck in an anxious (me) and avoidant (him) attachment loop. Whenever we needed to work through things together to grow as a couple, he would pull away. And obviously, I had responsibility in that dynamic. I was anxious when he left, and my emotions were overwhelming, but I had never seen myself be THIS anxious. I thought maybe the relationship was an opportunity for both of us to see and face these patterns in ourselves. He kept promising he wanted to be together and make things work but acted the exact opposite way, extending his time away without giving me any predictability or stability. Eventually, he came back, and we somehow managed to move in together. He promised he was working on himself and that therapy was helping him work through his trauma in a new way, which was why he had needed space.
But once we moved in, everything went to even bigger shit. His depressive symptoms came back much harder. He wasn't eating or sleeping properly, his eyes were blank, and the avoidance was at its max. I was desperate, partly because it was so painful to see him like this again, and I couldn't figure out what was going on: why being with me made him so unhappy if he said he loved me so much, and why he had to pull away from me so much if he wanted our future together so badly. That's when my own analyst eventually told me he wasn't actually going to therapy. It was a lie, a huge lie. She spoke to the analyst she had recommended because she was worried about me and him based on what I'd told her, and she found out he'd gone once and never returned. She'd known for a while and eventually decided it would be more unethical not to tell me. I'm so glad she did.
Maybe I shouldn't have been, but I WAS SHOCKED. I never expected deceit on this level. Just two days before, he'd told me that in the past, he'd only gone to therapy for the sake of it without digging deep, but that this time he was really working through things differently. He said it was important, that sometimes sessions lasted two hours, etc. It wasn't an omission; it was a whole made-up story. When I confronted him, he said that he was telling me what he wished he was doing, what he really wanted to do, but couldn't bring himself to actually face it all.
But he was now realizing that this was an opportunity for him to really see the shit he was doing with his life and change things for real this time. But he just needed some extra alone time at my friend's house first. (I know, I want to scream too.)
Bear in mind that during this time, I managed to schedule my surgery, and it was coming up in one month. I think this was the only reason this wasn't the last straw for me. I'd lost so much trust in myself and was genuinely afraid of going through it without him. He kept promising he'd be there for me and that he'd change this time. But AGAIN, he kept avoiding coming back, always making excuses, always “next day, next day,” and I was going insane. I was so afraid and shocked at myself for being in this situation with the person I thought was the love of my life, who had always promised to be there for me. One week before surgery, I couldn't take it anymore. I knew I had to break things off so I could recover properly, but I just couldn't do it. I texted him a long message about how unbearable the situation was and that if he truly wanted to support me, he would have by then. Thankfully, I did that, because the next day he finally came back and broke things off.
He said he couldn't bear to see me going backwards for him, that he wasn't depressed, he was just like this, and that he couldn't figure out how to create good moments for us. He loved me just as much as ever and still thought we could be together one day, but maybe we were incompatible because I wanted so much out of life and he couldn't keep up. He said he had to stop making me suffer because he couldn't find a way forward and felt lost and disoriented. Believe it or not, what hurt me the most was hearing him say that that's just the way he was, that as much as he wanted to, he really couldn't see himself taking the steps to change in the way I needed him to right now. I couldn't believe someone I loved so much, and saw so much potential in, could succumb to such bad feelings about himself.
It took me a little while to realize that he'd left right before I needed him the most. I cried all night that first night and thought I'd feel that way all week, but that's not what happened. The relief was instant the next day. I pulled myself together and prepared to face my fear of surgery, which I went through successfully with the help of my mother and some friends. It was hard, and there were some complications in the first couple of days, but I'm so much better now, and the most important thing is that I remembered that I can count on myself
Conclusions:
I tried SO HARD to make it work. WHY???? Obviously, making it work meant constantly crossing my own boundaries over and over again, expecting less every time I asked for more attention, consideration, presence, effort, and communication, and considerably lowering my standards for how a relationship should feel and be. But I couldn't see it. Because he never did anything terribly wrong, he was never aggressive, never abusive, never gaslit me or anything of the sort, always supportive of everything I did, always proud of me. Sometimes he looked at me with blank eyes, but what about all the other times he looked at me with beautiful sparkles in his eyes? So I stayed, but the problem wasn't what he did, but what he didn't do… But maybe I was expecting too much? That's what I kept asking myself. Maybe I needed to respect his pace? Not push too much? But he was struggling, and I could understand that, and I wanted him to be well.
No, it just wasn't enough for me. My wants and desires were uncontainable. I just couldn't make myself stop desiring the things I desired. I wanted a family of my own, a routine, goals, experiences, adventure, projects together, growing and continuing to grow together, and I kept pushing. I know I shouldn't have pushed, but I couldn't see it at the time. I thought he was going to get better because I loved him so, so much and because he said he wanted to. But I was living in contradiction, which is why I was exhausted. I wanted so much for it to be real, but reality was telling me something else, so I kept living in the hope that things would eventually get better. And that broke me completely. I coudn't see that the times I was trying to help him heal, eat, sleep, do basic things, made me so drained.
I also hid his shortcomings from my family and friends to preserve the good image they had of him, which isolated me more and more in my anxiety and my inability to admit what was happening. I was just so stuck in the mindset that we were soulmates, two troubled souls who had found each other, that love was about sticking together through the hard parts, supporting each other in our lowest moments, and that the fairy tale would come in the end. I was going to love him back to health. But no, no one can save someone who isn't ready to save themselves, and this is what makes my heart ache so much. But my heart should also ache for myself and for all the ways I allowed myself to suffer by staying and neglecting my own needs.
If any of you read the whole thing, I just know that you thought a million times, "How the fuck did she put up with this much?" And I ask myself the same thing. I truly loved him so damn much. I thought it was unconditional. And honestly, that's exactly what I need to figure out. I don't really want this to be about how he sucks, but mainly about why I stayed. Somehow, I still think he is a good person with a good heart who just really, really struggles with himself and is going through a lot of suffering.
I know it's going to take a long period of self-reflection and therapy to rebuild my self-esteem and self-worth, and to figure out if I stayed out of guilt about leaving him, because of all the patriarchy I learned, because of a delusional idea of what love is, because I felt undeserving, because of where my anxious attachment comes from, because of internalised misogyny, or because I felt like I couldn't trust myself. I was giving everything and receiving very little, but I know that I wasn't ready to figure this out earlier. I had to try twice, I had to try everything possible and know that I'd done everything I could before I could give up. I had to wait until something undeniable happened this time, so hopefully I won't get to this point next time, if there is one. Hopefully, I'll know much earlier when something isn't right for me anymore.
It's rough to admit that there was also an underlying part of me that kept pushing because I wanted to be a mother and have a family eventually, and this seemed like it was my chance. Now, it's scary to feel like there's a time constraint on my fertility window and not know if I'll ever be able to realize this dream. It's scary to think about doing it by myself, but even scarier to think about how bad things could have been if I'd pushed forward with him. But I also know now that if it ever does happen, both my children and I deserve a much better version of me: one with self-respect, clarity, and joy in her life. And that is not who I've been alongside him these past couple of years.
Last night, he came to get the rest of his stuff. I made sure he understood there was no way back this time, that after not being there for me, he could never be a safe place for me again, and that trust could never be rebuilt between us. I forgive him, but we can't go back. He said it hadn't really hit him yet that it was truly over, that he was regretful but rationally knew it was too late, that he'd lost his chance to have a big love story in his life, etc. Later, he sent me a message saying that I was the love of his life and how grateful he was for everything we had, how he still sees my smile every time he closed his eyes. It was a goodbye message. I still don't understand how someone can love you that much and still pull away, ruin things, and hurt you. I cried remembering the most beautiful moments we shared, but I also remembered the pain he put me through, and my tears dried. Right now, I have to stop trying to understand him and let it go. Wish and pray for his healing from far away, and let it go.
I know I have a long way to go, but I'm proud of myself for finally being sure that I deserve better, that I'm allowed and able to work towards my dreams, my happiness, and my best life. I'm proud of myself for going through surgery and healing. I'm scared of not knowing what's next, but much more than scared, I'm excited to see where I could go now. I'm sad, but much more than sad, I feel free. I don't want a crazy, dramatic love story. I want a calm kind of love, or many, and the first one has to be with myself. I hope I can find my spark again.
