Plot Twist : Turns Out I Am The Main Character After All...

Greetings traveller. (Ten points if you can guess the show - another five if you’re here because your own love life recently imploded — welcome to the club, refreshments are emotional growth and mild delusion)

I didn’t want to write this until I’d had enough time and space to process it all — the heartbreak, the confusion, and the stark realisation that the future I thought was mine had shattered overnight. But time has a funny way of softening the edges, giving you perspective… and, somehow, a sense of humour. It’s been long enough now that I can look back without crying (most days), and I can feel my spark slowly coming back.

He’s gone. It’s over. It’s time to let go. Getting here took more long walks than I can count, more bottles of wine than I care to admit, and countless sleepless nights spent whispering to the universe, “Please, just bring him back.” But somewhere along the way, the sadness stopped feeling like a second skin. The heaviness lifted from my chest, and for the first time in what feels like a long time, I can breathe again.

I really thought that this time we would make it. I believed the distance, the time apart, and the lessons we’d both learned would somehow glue us back together stronger than before. I wanted so badly to believe that love could rewrite the ending. Sometimes love isn’t a second chance — it’s a repeat lesson, arriving to show you what still needs to heal. I’d hoped we could figure things out and grow together — that we’d finally learn how to meet in the middle, work as a team, and build on what we already had to make our future solid. I wanted partnership, not perfection; effort, not promises. But now, looking back, I’m not even sure why he came back at all. Maybe he missed the comfort, or the version of himself he could be when he was with me. But deep down, I don’t think he ever truly wanted to stay, or he just didn't know how to— not in the way I needed.

We never had a chance to find out how great it could have been — something was always in the way. We never started from solid ground, so it’s no wonder the tower came crashing down around us. (Jenga anyone?) Two broken hearts don’t make a whole, no matter how hard you try to fit them together. We were damaged when we started this journey and ultimately it led to the demise of the relationship. Growing together was never an option; it had to be apart. ( “together but functional” wasn’t on our bingo card.)

I think what hurt the most was the way he flipped the script. One minute he was heartbroken to let me go, saying he needed to sort his life out, that he didn’t want to drag me backwards, that he could see how much I’d grown and changed — and that I deserved more than he could give. It sounded sincere. It sounded like love with regret. I heard the emotion and love in his voice. Then, a few weeks later, the tone shifted. Suddenly, the story wasn’t about needing time or space; it was about how the relationship “wasn’t right” for him, and how I “shouldn’t text” because it “wasn’t good” for me. That stung.

I’d literally sent one message — something simple, something kind: that I’d been somewhere he would’ve loved. His reply was cold, detached, almost rehearsed. Classic avoidant. It was like watching a door close that I didn’t even realise was still open. The warmth that once felt like home vanished overnight, and I was left standing there, wondering how someone could care so much one day and sound like a stranger the next.

I sent a message I regretted in response. One I wished I could have unsent, unseen, and erased from the digital record of humanity. It was emotional, dramatic, and written by a version of me who definitely should’ve taken a few deep breaths first (or at least consulted a friend, a therapist, or literally anyone with Wi-Fi and common sense). I hit send, felt oddly powerful for about twelve seconds, and then immediately regretted every word. I blocked him — as one does when you’re equal parts heartbroken and unhinged (“emotional stability” is a sliding scale, after all). Then, a few weeks later, I unblocked him, thinking maybe he’d replied and I’d missed it (he hadn’t). The silence was deafening. Nothing quite like getting ignored in a conversation you started and ended yourself (10/10 would not recommend).

I used to cringe every time I thought about that message — the overthinking, the blocking, the silence that followed. But now I just shake my head and smile a little. It wasn’t childish; it was human. (Tragically so, but still.) I was hurt, angry, and trying to find some kind of control in a situation that made me feel completely powerless. That message wasn’t about him, really — it was about me needing to be heard, even if the only person who ended up listening was me. And honestly, that’s okay. Healing is messy. Sometimes it looks like wisdom; sometimes it looks like a text you wish you hadn’t sent. Both count.

And that’s the truth I had to swallow: no matter how much I gave, or how patient I was, it was never going to be enough — not because I lacked anything, but because he was fighting battles I couldn't see. I wasn’t the problem. Not really. I was just collateral damage in a war that wasn’t mine to fight. (Wrong battlefield, wrong uniform, and definitely the wrong guy to follow into the trenches.)

I bent myself out of shape — and he still left. I tried to be softer, harder, quieter, louder. I tried being understanding, patient, chill, “the cool girlfriend.” Which, let’s be honest, was about as sustainable as living on espresso and hope. I thought if I just loved him enough, he’d eventually feel safe enough to stay. But it doesn’t matter how much love you pour into someone if they don’t have the space, or the courage, to hold it.

Love isn’t about proving your worth . Maybe that’s the hardest part — realising that love can be beautiful, generous, and pure, and still not enough for someone who’s not ready to receive it. Heartbreak really is the world’s worst character development program.

It doesn’t mean I failed. It just means he wasn't in a place to nurture what I was offering. And that’s not for me to fix.

I’ve come to realise that sometimes your healing can make someone else feel small — that the progress you’re proud of can remind them of all the places they still feel stuck. I think part of him looked at me and saw everything he wanted, but didn’t know how to reach. He wanted to get there, but he just didn't know how. Instead of letting me in, he pulled away — again.

He carried so much inside him. I think he tried hard to pretend he was okay — to show up, to support me, to be the partner he wanted to be. But his emotional capacity was running on empty, and I think it quietly broke him to keep performing strength he didn’t feel.  It must have been exhausting, always wearing a mask, trying to hold it all together while he was falling apart inside. And maybe that’s why he kept pulling away — not because he didn’t care, but because caring cost him more than he had to give.

I honestly believe that most men are avoidant — or at least have tendencies. Society has conditioned them as such. Don’t show emotion, don’t cry, be strong, don’t talk about feelings, don’t show weakness. It’s heartbreaking. It needs to change.

I love deeply — all in, with every part of me. It’s who I am. But I’ve also learned that loving deeply doesn’t mean I have to lose myself in the process. I can have boundaries and still have a big heart; I can care fully without abandoning who I am. I think that kind of love — honest, intense, and self-aware — scared him a little. Maybe it held up a mirror to parts of himself he wasn’t ready to face. My love asked him to grow, and I think he just wasn’t there yet. And that’s okay. I’d rather love wholeheartedly and risk the pain than hold back and never be known at all.

His demons were louder than my reassurance, and no amount of patience, softness, or understanding could quiet them. I see that now. It wasn’t that I failed him — it’s that I was trying to heal wounds I didn’t cause. The sad thing is that I would have stood by him through anything. I’d have loved and supported him to the end. Because that’s who I am. Annoyingly loyal, like a golden retriever (a super adorable one)

I have done a lot of healing — both while we were together and in the time we have been apart. I work on myself endlessly, peeling back layers I didn’t even know existed. (Its actually very fucking annoying). I’m not perfect; I fuck up, I make mistakes, I overthink — but I’m human, and I’m just trying my best out here like we all are. The work never really stops, does it? At this point, I deserve a loyalty card for therapy.

I know now that so much of my pain has come from my struggle with self-worth and self-love. I have bent, shrunk, and hidden parts of myself to become what I thought other people needed instead of honouring my own needs and being true to who I am. Turns out, “emotionally available doormat” is not a personality type.

I realise I’ve lost myself in relationships — chipped away little pieces of who I am just to keep someone else comfortable. I’ve twisted myself into versions I thought would be easier to love, trying to prove that I am worthy, that I am enough. But not anymore. No more shrinking. No more overcompensating. No more begging for the bare minimum while calling it connection.  No more pouring everything into them and neglecting myself. I’m done proving my worth to anyone who can’t already see it.

Love should not require me to disappear. I have learnt how I do not want to show up in love and how I do. I deserve a love that meets me where I am, with the same depth, effort, and warmth I offer in return -preferably from someone who’s done at least one round of self-reflection and can locate their own feelings without a map.

I’ll always have love for him — that part hasn’t changed. It’s just different now. It’s softer, quieter, stripped of expectation. It’s the kind of love that hopes he finds peace, even if it’s not beside me. For a while, I thought moving on meant hating him or pretending I didn’t care, but it doesn’t. It just means I stopped chasing or hoping and turned the focus back to me.

He needed the love I gave him. I hope, in some ways, it helped. We had some truly wonderful times together — we laughed, we loved, we travelled, we saw some beautiful places and shared magical moments. Our humour was the same shade of dark, and we aligned on so many things that sometimes it felt like we shared a brain cell (a sarcastic one, obviously). There were moments when we’d say the exact same thing at the exact same time, and I’d think, yep, that’s it — this is connection.

For me, it felt deep, rare, and real. I’m sad it didn’t go the distance, but I’m grateful for the time we had and everything it taught me. Some people come into your life to love you forever, and some just to remind you what it feels like to be seen — even if only for a little while.

I can wish him well and still choose myself. I can miss him and still move forward. I can hold gratitude for what we had without wanting it back. That’s the thing about healing — it doesn’t mean the love disappears, it just stops hurting.

I’m rediscovering the parts of myself that got quiet while I was trying to keep us alive. I’m sleeping better, laughing louder, and taking up all the space I once made small. I'm not angry anymore, I'm not waiting, replaying or rewriting, I have stopped carrying the weight of something that was never mine to carry. I will no longer chase love that does not want to stay. I would be receptive if he reached out, but I don't think thats going to happen now and I'm okay with that.

This is what letting go looks like, no grand finale, no closure, or dramatic goodbye, just a quiet return to self, but a better, stronger, wiser version. The future is mine now, and for the first time, that doesn’t scare me — it excites me. My career is thriving, and I’m stepping into a new chapter with more confidence than ever. My debts are cleared, there’s a new house waiting to become a home, a new town to explore, flights to book for all the places I’ve promised myself I’d see, travelling alone, new fitness goals, new friends, new experiences. I'm saying a big YES to everything I can (within reason of course) I'm getting new hobbies — kickboxing, for one (because apparently, kicking the shit out of things is like therapy, only cheaper) — and yes to new connections, too. I’m free now to meet someone who matches my energy, my growth, and the kind of love I know I deserve. My life isn’t about rebuilding anymore — it’s about becoming.

If you are going through this, be gentle with yourself. Its grief, and it hurts like hell. But the light will eventually shine through.

Maybe that’s the silver lining in all of this — that losing him brought me back to me.

And honestly? That’s a love story worth writing about.