my big one

 There was a time I believed I needed to tell my side of the story. That healing required explanation. That if people just understood everything I had endured, how my efforts were met with betrayal, then maybe I’d feel more at peace. Maybe I’d feel seen. I’ve been quiet for so long that silence started to feel like safety. I bit my tongue more times than I can count out of love, out of loyalty. Out of some misplaced belief that being the bigger person meant shrinking myself down to nothing.

But I deserve the relief of my own honesty. I’ve taken time to reflect before writing this. I wanted to be sure that what I say here comes from clarity, not emotion. Not reaction.

I’ve outgrown the urge to be understood by others. To me, peace comes from understanding myself.

I loved someone who hurt me. Quietly, non-explosive. You chipped away at my trust with one inferior betrayal. I was lied to my face. I used to think of you as someone who would never hurt me that way. And I made it clear to you where I drew the line. But you crossed that line I never thought you would, and nothing’s no longer the same. Perspective is earned. That line you crossed was one I can’t look past. And because of that, I’ve chosen to move forward, away from this, and from you.

I had questioned my own instincts, invalidated my own feelings. I was driven to think the chaos was my fault. I kept asking myself what I did wrong. I gave our relationship my all. I held on, tried to make it work, I only loved. I trusted. I saw your good and chose to keep believing. I went through so much trouble holding things together and everything I did, I knew it came from a place of love and care. Only to be lied to like a fool towards the end. You made it clear to me where you stood and made me believe it. Then you went and did exactly the opposite right after.

The part that still lingers sometimes is how I spent so much time wondering if it was me. Why wasn’t I enough for you to treat me with honesty? I abandoned myself and rationalized everything. I took the blame. I carried the shame. And while you sought comfort, I sought clarity. I sat in silence wondering what was wrong with me. But deep down, I know that I showed up with love, with sincerity, with a heart that truly wanted to grow something real with you. I stayed when it was hard. I tried when it wasn’t easy.

I remember the nights I cried in private. I remember the questions of self-doubt I whispered to myself. I remember the moment my heart split a little when I found out. And I’ve seen the mourning, the hurting, the grieving on your end. I’ve seen the sad eyes, the vague posts, the shared songs. I watched it all with a strange blend of distance and compassion. It was disorienting at first. However, never once have I mocked or resented you for it. Never once have I denied you your right to feel. I’ve felt empathy. I really have. Because to me, grief doesn’t make sense and it doesn’t care who was right or wrong.  What we had was meaningful to me. And it’s human to feel the weight of something when it’s gone.

But to me, sadness without accountability is a hollow thing. Feelings, as sincere as they may be, don’t always come with growth. I no longer confuse emotion with change. And while I’ve forgiven you, I’ve done so for my own peace. That doesn’t mean I’ve forgotten. It simply means I refuse to carry anger into the next chapter of my life. I carry no hate. I have no desire to retaliate or to revisit the past for the sake of being right. Forgiveness, for me, was never about excusing what happened. It was about releasing the weight. I forgave because I needed space in my spirit again to rebuild and to remember who I was before. I took the pain inward and tried to make sense of it in silence. I’ve long since chosen peace over resentment. You’ll never fully know what it took for me to walk away. But I did. And I stand by that decision completely.

I loved you. That was real. I stayed, I believed, and I tried. I let it eat me. But I don’t regret that. I regret the way you lied to me. I regret knowing that if I hadn’t taken matters into my own hands, you would’ve kept lying and I would’ve never found out the truth.

So, I’ve drawn a boundary. And I mean it. I hope that one day you live with genuine peace that you stop speaking on me. I hope I no longer live in your mouth. No longer wrapped into your narrative. This is about me choosing to live with both feet in my own life. About not needing to correct the narrative, or reclaim the room, or hear my name said kindly by anyone. I’ve made peace with what happened. And that peace didn’t arrive with fireworks or apologies or recognition. It came in quiet mornings. In long journal entries. In choosing not to reply. In putting my phone down. In breathing through the ache and still choosing to stay soft. I won’t lose myself over this. I will remain kind because that’s how I choose to live. I will always slow down, reflect, and turn inward with humility. Not every experience deserves a reaction, just reflection. That is the life I want. That is the life I will keep choosing.