As I pull myself through another romantic breakup, I keep coming back to the same thoughts and questions.
Am I holding myself accountable for things I didn’t do?
I have been hyper-focused on taking accountability for the happenings in my life because sometimes I am the problem. I’m very receptive to feedback from others who are close to me because I want to maintain and grow those relationships. But sometimes I’m too receptive to criticism. Especially if it’s about causing hurt or harm to someone. But that is something that can be and has been taken advantage of. If you say I hurt you, I’m going to believe it, take accountability for it, and do my best to atone for my actions. However, sometimes those hurts I’m trying to atone for are just projections of something that has little to nothing to do with me. Sometimes the harms I’m called to take accountability for are old wounds that I didn’t inflict that never fully healed.
Why am I shouldering all the blame, when in reality the relationship breakdown isn’t 100% my doing?
I tend to blame myself for circumstances completely or partially out of my control because it just makes more sense. If I don’t factor in variables like other’s behaviors and actions, the calculations are easy to come by. I can’t find “closure” if I don’t fully understand the other person’s motives, so I don’t add them to the equation and it comes to a conclusion of me being in the wrong. But the onus on why a relationship ends is rarely on just one party (barring abuse). Understanding and putting into practice the knowledge that I am not solely at fault has been difficult.
I resent the fact that I’ve put in so much work to heal, grow, and become an ever-evolving person who is good to myself and others, only to once again be met with someone who said “Welp, that’s enough hard internal work. Whomever I end up with is just gonna have to take whatever I feel up to giving.”
If you’ve read my blog or heard me speak in a NAMI presentation, you know my journey with my mental illness and mental health started at age 12. I’m no stranger to a therapist’s office, to seeking guidance through ATR (African Traditional Religions), to group therapy, and to whatever new age, hippy dippy trend aimed at self-improvement comes up (except cults. I surprisingly haven’t run into any cults yet). I’ve spent countless hours pulling at my most painful memories hoping that I can pull out so much that barely a trace lives inside me. Poking my triggers and hoping for a misfire. Pushing past the suffocating anxiety that is my fear of abandonment to express and advocate for my needs to be met, all while barely breathing. I’ve done all this, not just to be better for myself, but to be a better partner. I work on myself so that I don’t hurt myself and so I don’t hurt others, whether intentionally or unintentionally. Yet, I’m met with a funhouse mirror of myself.
At some angles, they look to have done the work for the same reasons I have. From other angles, they look self-aware and emotionally intelligent. From some angles, they look like open and honest communicators. But then the light shifts and those angles start to look like gaslighting, stubbornness, and projection of internal unrest. I would ask why even bother to continue working on myself, but I know I do it because I don’t want to be the same person I used to be. I want to be better for myself. Whether I find a “forever” love or not, at least I will have continuously built up my self-love and poured into my platonic relationships.
Am I naive when believing that my ex-partners were being truthful when they said we had resolved an issue and moved on?
So much advice on all sorts of interpersonal relationships is predicated on assuming people are dishonest. Doesn’t matter if it’s business, romantic, platonic, or otherwise. There is an assumption of a strategic game being played at all times based on lies and half-truths. But I can’t function in any relationship if I’m never sure what is true or not. Why would I continue to behave like we are still in the midst of an argument if you’ve stated that it’s over and we’re okay? Why should I think otherwise when you say that your workload increased, that you’ve had significantly more familial responsibilities or worries about ill loved ones? Why should I be skeptical of the person I’m in a relationship with having ebbs and flows in life? Why shouldn’t I believe that this isn’t about me when they say so? But most importantly, how could I not be hurt when I ask why you’ve been acting differently towards me for months and you state you’ve been harboring a rage towards me that you are unable to, or unwilling to work through?
Am I too understanding in that I will never get the same degree of understanding reciprocated because it is not the norm?
And through all of this, I am understanding. Empathetic even. I think of how I would want to be treated when I am struggling to juggle life’s ups and downs as well as my negative thought patterns or distorted cognitions. I think about how gently I want to be handled when I’m overwhelmed or depressed, and I give that. I give the level of love, care, kindness, and understanding I wish to receive in whatever manner the other person desires if I can manage that. But I never get this in return, or at least not for long and not genuinely. I question if maybe I’m too fragile. Too sick. Too burdensome. Those thoughts stick to me. The more this happens, the more unlovable I feel.
I hold a deep resentment for the people I cared so deeply for who met me with apathy and scorn when I pushed past my fears of abandonment to have hard conversations and self-reflection.
I may not do all this work on myself for others, but for it not to be recognized, reciprocated, and sometimes mischaracterized as manipulative is painful. I built this version of myself brick by brick, and then someone comes along adds some more bricks, but then demolishes a whole portion with a wrecking ball. Now I’m left to rebuild while they get to ride off and find someone else’s build more appealing and continue to grow with them or they continue wrecking everyone that allows them to get close enough. Excuse my cynicism, but I haven’t seen enough positive stories to be very optimistic about people being willing and capable of changing for the better in regard to interpersonal relationships.
Understanding that being in love is similar to addiction in neuroscience doesn’t stop the feelings of shame for wishing I could just go back to them.
In my last therapy session, I talked about the shame I feel not just for staying so long as time and affection were continuously withdrawn, but for still wishing for the relationship back after all that was done to me, all that was said to me, and all that was said about me. As per usual my therapist had a book, as well as research about it. That research shows that your brain responds to a breakup similarly to drug withdrawal. That yearning for the other person to just come back and be with you again is like craving a fix. But even with this knowledge, I still feel ashamed. I’m supposed to be able to realize my worth and move on to the next. I’m supposed to focus on the reason for the breakup. How my mental health was being widdled away by the withdrawal of affection and breadcrumbing tactics. How all of my words were twisted and my side of things was ignored or invalidated. How lies and half-truths were being spread about me when I finally decided I couldn’t take anymore. I’m supposed to remember the worst, but not only are the good times replaying over and over in my head but so is the message of “who would ever want me once they know me for real?” It is a challenge being with me. I have a persistent and severe mental illness. I have multiple chronic illnesses that limit me. I miss a lot of social cues. My anxiety can be overwhelming and interrupt plans. Nothing about my wellness and illness is predictable. I’m on disability. I’ll never truly be “independent” because I need these social safety nets like Social Security disability, medicare, and housing assistance. I see how the general public talks about and treats people like me. All of this makes me question my decision to leave because I doubt anyone will take a chance on me again.
So where do I go from here? I’m still a hopeless romantic because I enjoy and desire romantic love, despite all the the hurt and pain it has caused me. But have I been pulled through the wringer too many times to be a healthy partner? Will I ever be able to be truly vulnerable and trusting again? All I can do is continue to work on myself, but the only protection from another heartbreak is to never put my heart out there again.
