Uncertainty….

I took a little time away to simply experience life, and honestly, it has been chaotic—but rewarding.

Throughout these challenging months and weeks, I’ve learned so much about myself. For such a long time, I was focused on everything outside of me. I was constantly trying to fix the people around me while neglecting my own needs, desires, and inner voice.

For the past seven years, my main focus had been my relationship. I tried to be everything I thought a “perfect girlfriend” should be. I thought changing myself would make me a better partner. I thought who I naturally was might not be good enough.

Looking back, it hurts to realize how little I thought of myself for such a long time.

I tried to control the outcome of my relationship, and that did not work out well for me. I was afraid my girlfriend could easily be taken away from me because, deep down, I didn’t believe I was worthy enough to be chosen and kept.

I thought I had self-worth before the relationship, but somewhere along the way, I lost touch with it.

I felt like I had stepped into chaos almost from the beginning, and instead of asking myself whether the chaos was healthy for me, I tried to make peace with it. I put aside my true feelings because I desperately wanted to keep the relationship.

I was insecure about many of the interactions my girlfriend had with other people because I had caught her in several lies involving her ex. My trust was slowly disappearing, and with it, so was my confidence.

But I didn’t want to let the relationship go because I believed it was destined.

I can remember one of our first major arguments. It was one of the first times I stopped pretending that I was okay with everything happening between her and her ex. I finally broke down and expressed how hurt and uncomfortable I was.

The way she responded to my emotions felt incredibly rude, mean, and dismissive to me.

Looking back, I recognize that as one of my first heartfelt red flags.

But instead of paying attention to it, I clung even harder.

As the relationship progressed, life continued to happen. People in my girlfriend’s life passed away. COVID happened. My dad became sick with cancer. Life was chaotic for a long time.

When my girlfriend lost her sister at the beginning of our relationship, I didn’t know what to do. I had already experienced what I perceived as emotional dismissiveness from her, but I also didn’t know how to support her through grief.

When I found out her sister had passed, I dropped everything and drove to her house. I wanted to comfort her in whatever way I knew how, as much as she would allow me to.

But she didn’t allow much affection from me during that time.

She eventually told me she was going home, and I remember asking her how I could be there for her. She never really expressed how she felt, and I didn’t want to push her. I wanted to respect her space because I was still learning how to understand her.

At the same time, I was carrying insecurities that had already developed within the relationship.

She was drinking heavily, spending time with her military friends, and there were times when I felt she wasn’t being completely truthful about who she was spending time with. My insecurities were already heightened by the loss of trust I was experiencing.

I knew some of my reactions were unhealthy. I knew I was trying to control situations because I wanted to feel safe and secure.

But control never gave me the safety I was looking for.

Instead, it created more anger and conflict between us.

There were times when I was called names, cursed at, yelled at, and made to feel small. And in response, I would scream, cry, yell, slam things, and become extremely reactive.

I was acting out because I wanted to feel seen.

I wanted to feel heard.

I wanted to feel validated.

But none of those reactions gave me what I was actually asking for.

Instead, they made everything worse.

There were moments when my girlfriend would be on the phone with her brother and I would become extremely upset because I felt ignored. There were times when I felt like she dismissed my calls and texts as me being “crazy” or calling too much.

It is embarrassing sometimes to look back at the ways I behaved.

But I am learning that shame doesn’t help me heal.

Understanding does.

I can acknowledge that my behavior was unhealthy without deciding that I was a terrible person.

I was scared.

I had lost trust.

I didn’t know how to regulate what I was feeling.

And instead of knowing how to communicate those feelings, I acted them out.

Those behaviors became a label that seemed to follow me throughout the relationship. I felt like I was permanently stamped with the person I had been during those early years.

Because, according to her, she wasn’t cheating on me, I began questioning myself. Maybe I was simply insecure. Maybe I was crazy. Maybe I was asking for too much.

But looking back, I’m not sure I ever truly believed she was cheating.

I think I was afraid she didn’t really want to be committed to a relationship that made her feel like she couldn’t be as free as she wanted to be.

And there is another truth I have to acknowledge:

I was the one desperately trying to hold onto the relationship because I felt such a strong connection and didn’t want to lose it.

I thought being chosen as her girlfriend meant something about my worth.

I needed the title.

I needed the reassurance.

I needed the validation.

I thought being someone’s girlfriend meant I was worthy of being loved.

It feels silly to admit that now, but it is my truth.

As the relationship progressed, things didn’t really get better. In many ways, they became worse.

Especially after we moved in together.

Things were already bad before we completely moved in, but part of me believed that living together would finally prove that we were committed to each other.

I was lost in that mindset.

I thought commitment could create security.

Instead, our arguments became more frequent and more intense.

At that time, I was extremely reactive to the things she would say to me. I would scream, cry, yell at the top of my lungs, and slam things.

I was acting out because I wanted attention.

I wanted to feel seen.

I wanted someone to understand how much I was hurting.

But that was never the outcome.

It only created more pain.

Over time, her drinking became worse, my weed intake became heavier, and we started surviving rather than truly living together.

My dad was becoming sicker.

My girlfriend was transitioning out of the military.

Life felt unstable.

I believe my girlfriend was trying to be there for me to the best of her ability while also carrying resentment toward me because she felt I wasn’t there for her in the way she needed when her sister passed.

But from my perspective, she didn’t allow me in.

All I could respond to were her actions, and those actions often felt dismissive and rude to me.

I understand now that people cope with grief differently. I understand that she may not have known how to let me in.

But understanding her doesn’t mean my experience wasn’t real.

My feelings were still valid.

When my dad’s health began to decline, I often felt alone during that process.

And because she had told me how badly I had treated her during the time of her sister’s death, I started believing that maybe I deserved to feel alone.

So I accepted it.

I buried my feelings.

I pushed my own experience aside.

But buried feelings don’t disappear.

They turn into resentment.

And eventually, I began carrying resentment too.

I always believed there were two sides to every story.

My side mattered too.

But I became afraid to feel strongly about my own experiences because I had been shamed so much for the insecure behaviors I displayed early in the relationship.

Eventually, things became so difficult that my girlfriend told me I needed therapy.

So I went.

And honestly, therapy became one of the best things I have ever done for myself.

I realized how much healing I actually needed—not just for the relationship, but for myself and for every relationship I would have in the future.

I’ve been in therapy consistently for more than five years now, and I haven’t stopped.

I have grown tremendously.

I have changed in ways that I’m genuinely proud of.

But I’m not perfect.

I still become defensive.

I still interrupt.

I still yell sometimes.

I still have moments where my old patterns show up.

The difference now is that I’m conscious of them.

And sometimes, being conscious of your patterns doesn’t make them easier to sit with.

It can actually make them harder.

Because now I can see myself doing something I don’t want to do.

I can recognize the pattern while I’m in it.

And lately, I have realized that some of my reactions aren’t simply about what is happening in the present moment.

Some of them are connected to years of accumulated anger, hurt, disappointment, and resentment.

For a long time, I thought being quiet meant I was growing.

I thought not responding meant I was healed.

I thought swallowing my feelings meant I was becoming a better partner.

But I’ve learned that suppressing myself isn’t the same thing as regulating myself.

There is a difference between peace and silence.

There is a difference between emotional maturity and self-abandonment.

And I don’t want to abandon myself anymore.

That has been one of the hardest parts of this chapter.

I’m trying to figure out where we go from here.

I don’t have all the answers.

I don’t know what the future of this relationship looks like.

And honestly, I’m nervous.

I’m anxious about the uncertainty.

Because when you stay inside a familiar pattern long enough, even when the pattern is unhealthy, it becomes predictable.

You know what comes next.

You know the role you’re going to play.

You know the cycle.

You know the outcome.

Familiarity can feel like safety simply because it is familiar.

And I think that’s part of what kept me attached for so long.

I was afraid of losing her.

But I was also afraid of losing the identity I had created around being her partner.

I gave so much of my power away trying to control the relationship, the outcome, her behavior, and ultimately the possibility of her leaving.

Now I’m learning to take that power back.

And surprisingly, reclaiming my power feels scary.

Because I don’t know what happens next.

But maybe that’s the point.

Maybe I don’t need to know.

Maybe I don’t need to control the outcome anymore.

Maybe I can simply pay attention to what is happening, listen to myself, honor my needs, and allow the truth to reveal itself.

I’m learning that love does not require me to abandon myself.

Commitment does not require me to become someone I’m not.

Being chosen does not determine my worth.

And someone leaving does not mean I am unworthy of love.

I can love someone and still have boundaries.

I can acknowledge where I have hurt someone without accepting blame for everything that happened.

I can take accountability without carrying shame.

I can recognize my mistakes without making them my identity.

And I can love someone without making their presence the proof that I am enough.

For so long, I was trying to create certainty.

Now I’m learning how to trust myself in uncertainty.

And that might be the real work.

Not knowing what happens next and choosing to believe that I will still be okay.

Not knowing whether the relationship will continue and trusting that I don’t have to force an outcome.

Not knowing who I will become and being willing to meet that version of myself anyway.

I’ve spent enough time trying to control life.

Now I want to experience it.

I want to experience myself.

I want to know who I am when I’m not trying to be the perfect girlfriend, the fixer, the peacemaker, or the person responsible for holding everything together.

I want to know who I am when I stop abandoning myself for certainty.

And maybe this is what reclaiming my power actually looks like:

Choosing myself without needing to know exactly where that choice will lead.

Living consciously.

Feeling everything.

Taking accountability.

Letting go.

Trusting myself.

And having enough faith to believe that whatever comes next, I will meet it as myself—not as the version of me who was desperately trying to be enough.

I am enough already.

And I’m finally learning to live like it.