Worthy Without Permission 💐

They say love is supposed to feel like home. But what happens when love feels like waiting in a hallway, hoping a door will open, but it never does? This is the story of a love that wasn’t simple, wasn’t easy, and definitely wasn’t kind. But it was real. At least, to me.
I met him during a chapter of my life filled with ambition and transition. I had just moved abroad to pursue my master’s degree in the Netherlands, carrying with me dreams bigger than the oceans I had crossed. He, on the other hand, was someone with a steady career and a strong sense of responsibility. His life looked composed, orderly, and deeply rooted in routine. He had people who respected him and work that demanded much of his time and energy.He was charismatic in the quietest ways. There was something comforting about how certain he seemed about the world and how certain he made me feel, at least in the beginning. For someone who often second-guessed herself, his confidence felt like a safe place to land.
But as time went on, I began to notice the cracks behind that calm exterior.He was often emotionally unavailable. At first, I blamed the distance, the time difference, and his busy schedule. But slowly, the pattern became harder to ignore. There were weekends I wouldn’t hear from him. There were times he would disappear mid-conversation and not explain why. When I expressed concern, he brushed it off. “You’re too sensitive,” he’d say. “Don’t overthink.”
He had a way of making me feel like I was asking for too much, even when all I wanted was basic honesty and consistency. Still, I gave him the benefit of the doubt.

"I thought perhaps life was just heavy for him. Perhaps I needed to be more patient. But what began as patience slowly turned into self-abandonment."

He said he had closed the door on past relationships. That he was ready to move forward. I trusted that. I believed his words because I wanted them to be true. But then, quietly and painfully, I started noticing signs that not everything had been fully resolved. I found out through others, not through him. And that hurt more than anything else. Not just what he kept from me, but the fact that I had to find out on my own.
Trust, once cracked, rarely fits the same way again. I began to live in a state of emotional confusion, oscillating between doubt and devotion. He gave me just enough affection to keep me holding on, but never enough certainty to feel secure. It was a love that left me guessing, shrinking, and constantly trying to prove I was enough.
There were moments of tenderness, of course. He had a way of apologizing without saying sorry. A tone of voice that could make me forget everything that went wrong. But those moments were like sunsets, beautiful, short-lived, and gone before I could hold onto them.

"I started asking myself questions I never thought I’d ask in a relationship. Why do I feel lonelier with someone than when I’m alone? Why do I feel like I’m chasing validation instead of love? Why do I cry after calls that are supposed to make me feel closer?"

The moment I realized I had stopped recognizing myself, I knew I had to start choosing me. Ending things was not a grand decision. It didn’t happen in one big fight or final goodbye. It was slow, quiet, and filled with grief. I stopped reaching out. I stopped waiting. I stopped hoping he would change. And in that space of silence, I began to hear the voice I had been silencing all along. My own.
The healing didn’t come instantly. I missed him in waves. I missed the idea of him. I missed the way I felt when I thought he truly saw me. But the truth is, I had been building a relationship not just with him, but with my own imagination. My hope, my longing, my idea of who he could be if he chose to love me right.
That realization was both heartbreaking and liberating. So I began the slow process of coming home to myself. I started writing again. I started praying more intentionally. I reconnected with the people who had always been there for me, the ones I had unintentionally pushed away while trying to keep someone who didn’t truly want to stay. I allowed myself to cry without shame, to be angry without guilt, and to speak my story without watering it down. I began to build new boundaries. To stop apologizing for being someone who feels deeply. To stop minimizing my needs in the name of love. I forgave myself for not leaving sooner. I forgave him, not because he deserved it, but because I needed peace more than I needed closure.

"Healing taught me that love is not supposed to confuse you, compete with your dignity, or silence your truth. Real love feels safe. It grows in light, not in shadows."

Today, I still carry parts of that love story. Not with bitterness, but with clarity. I no longer need to prove that I was worthy. I always was. I always will be.
To the girl I was then. I see you. I’m proud of you. You loved deeply, even when it hurt. And now, you’re learning to love yourself just as fiercely. This was the love that almost broke me. But in the end, it brought me back to myself.
After everything, I didn’t come out of this story hating love. I came out of it seeing love more clearly. I used to think love was about effort. About showing up for someone, no matter what. About sacrificing, enduring, forgiving over and over again. I thought that if I just held on tightly enough, the relationship would stabilize. I believed love was something you had to fight for, even when the fight was draining your soul.
But now I know. Love should not feel like a battlefield. It should not demand your silence in exchange for peace. It should not make you feel like you’re always one mistake away from being too much. I learned that genuine love is not proven through suffering. It’s not measured by how many times you stay when you’re hurting. It’s shown in presence, in consistency, in how someone treats you when you’re no longer useful to their ego. I learned that someone who truly loves you does not make you feel like a second option.
They don’t make you beg for time, truth, or tenderness.
One of the hardest lessons was realizing that being loyal to someone who confuses you is not love. It’s self-abandonment. Sometimes, the bravest thing you can do is walk away from someone you deeply love because you’ve finally learned to love yourself more. That’s what I had to do. Not because I stopped loving him, but because I finally stopped betraying myself.
I also learned that love is not only about chemistry or passion or shared memories. Those things matter, but they’re not enough. Real love needs emotional safety. It needs accountability. It needs both people showing up, not just with promises but with action. Not just with sweet words, but with hard conversations and honesty.
I learned to listen to actions more than words. To watch how someone handles conflict. To see how they treat me when I’m not convenient. These are the things that reveal the core of someone’s love. And I’ve learned to trust those signs. But more than anything, I’ve learned to come back to myself. To know what I deserve.
To stop apologizing for needing clarity, loyalty, and emotional presence. I’ve learned that being soft doesn’t mean being weak. That vulnerability is not the problem. Giving it to the wrong person is.

Healing didn’t erase the pain, but it gave it a purpose. I no longer carry the relationship as a wound, but as a lesson. One that taught me how to choose better, love better, and most importantly, how to love myself through all seasons.

This was the love that almost broke me. But in the end, it became the love that rebuilt me.