The Gift of Knowing

I have been transformed in the best possible ways. Not by ease but by pain.

September 21, 2025

I used to believe that if I just loved better — softer, smarter, quieter — he would stay.

That if I worded things differently, brought up less, asked for less, needed less…

maybe he would love me back in the way I loved him.

But the truth is, I wasn’t loved.

Not truly.

Not in the way I deserved.

Not in a way that was honest, whole, or safe.

Even though he swore he was safe.

Even though he said he loved me.

And still, I kept trying.

Until I was shown everything.

Until the full truth came crashing in —

every lie, every omission, every moment of manipulation and psychological harm

splintered the fragile story I was holding like a pane of stained glass.

It didn’t crack gently. It shattered.

And from the wreckage, I saw myself more clearly than I ever had—

not the version shaped by longing, but the one quietly waiting for me underneath.

It was the most psychologically explosive experience of my life.

But it was also the greatest gift I could have been given.

Because it ended the spell he had over me.

The truth cracked through me

like a frozen lake breaking open in spring —

sudden, violent, undeniable —

exposing what had long been hiding beneath the surface.

His fantasies of being misunderstood.

Not bad, just human.

The prey, rather than the predator.

Important, grounded, and led by integrity.

It severed the ties between my worth and his validation.

It returned me to myself.

I stopped believing I was too needy.

I stopped trying to decode his avoidance.

I stopped apologizing for wanting consistency, honesty, presence.

I started trusting myself.

I started building safety within myself.

I discovered my self-worth

and the most radical forms of self-love and acceptance.

The truths hurt.

God, they fucking wrecked me.

But the untruths were killing me.

So I thank whatever force —

God, the Universe, the Divine —

that made the truth louder than my loyalty and longing.

It gave me everything I needed to walk away.

Not because I stopped loving him,

but because I finally remembered how to love me.

Fiercely.

Tenderly.

Entirely.

Eternally.

And now, five months later,

I can breathe.

I can sleep.

I can think clearly.

I no longer live on high alert, bracing for absence, neglect, and sniper attacks to my psyche.

My nervous system is calm.

My laughter is real.

My life is full.

I feel peace and joy consistently.

I’m not afraid of my needs, my voice, or my strength.

I no longer abandon myself in the name of someone else’s comfort.

I trust my gut.

I stand tall in truth.

And I feel safe — not because someone else gives me safety,

but because it lives in me.

These are the gifts the most painful experience of my life has given me.

And I am deeply grateful.