on walking away

even when it feels so, so hard

Recently, I heard an ex (who’s now a friend) talk about how there was almost a four-month period in his previous relationship when he didn’t really care about the person he was with, mostly because he was more interested in smoking up than he was in his partner. That relationship ended up lasting over a year after this phase, until he eventually ended things with her.

The first thought that came to my mind when I heard this was - “I don’t know how she stayed with him for that long. I would’ve ended that relationship sooo much earlier than that.” The very next thought I had was - “Oh wait, I did.” It was so hard to walk away at the first red flag, but I did. My ‘relationship’ with him had lasted less than a month, and had ended for the same reason - it became evident that he barely cared about me when he was high, and he was always high.

There was something deeply satisfying about realising that my actions had aligned with my principles. That I actually did the thing I’d tell people I would’ve done.

Everyone would agree that it’s better to be alone than being in a relationship with someone who doesn’t care about you, but not everyone has the courage to walk away from someone they like when they know they aren’t being loved right.

It’s easy to give in to the urge to let things continue as they are, to accept a half-hearted love for the sake of avoiding nights alone in your room, to settle for something just because it’s better than nothing.

I understand the appeal of trying to make things work, of not giving up on someone because at some point you’ve known the best of them, but I am also aware that often, this perseverance stems from a place of fear and not love. It’s hard to be by yourself when you know you have the option of clinging to at least the illusion of being loved. Making some memories with someone, even the half-hearted ones, is better than crying yourself to sleep every night, right? Why let go of something, until you find the next, better thing to replace the void it’ll leave behind?

I don’t know if I have a decent argument against this. Sometimes I still wonder if it would’ve been easier to let it go on for a little bit longer and accept the screwed up version of companionship he offered, as opposed to spending that time crying over him, wondering what I could’ve done differently, and for months, not being able to do a single thing except working and working out. I still spent that time being upset and crying quite often, so was I really better off on my own?

I can’t answer that question because I have no way to know what would’ve happened had I stayed. I do know that I would never have been truly happy, and something would always have felt amiss. I would’ve known, on some level, that by staying with someone who didn’t prioritise me, I was disrespecting myself, and I would have allowed that disrespect to continue for months.

The way you allow people to treat you is the way your subconscious self learns how you deserve to be treated. Every time you accept the bare minimum, you are telling your future self that it’s not a deal breaker for you. You are honing your ability to put up with someone’s bullshit, instead of practicing the art of walking away from it even when every fibre of your being wants to stay. How you choose to deal with it now becomes a vote on how you will deal with a similar situation in the future. It determines the standard you will hold yourself to, and the trust you will have in yourself and your decisions.

Accepting even the smallest acts of disrespect without walking away becomes the moisture that dampens the foundation of your self esteem, so slowly and invisibly that you can’t see it happening until the cracks begin to form.

Walking away is to close the door on anything that may cause such damage, even if it means staying in the dark for some time. It is to learn to refuse any form of happiness or connection that requires you to lower your standards or be dishonest with yourself. It is to say, like Charlotte Bronte’s Jane Eyre:

“I can live alone, if self-respect, and circumstances require me so to do. I need not sell my soul to buy bliss.

I have an inward treasure born with me, which can keep me alive if all extraneous delights should be withheld, or offered only at a price I cannot afford to give.”

I still don’t know whether the good times I could have experienced had I chosen to stay would’ve been worth it, but I do know that they would always have been laced with a certain sense of discomfort; with the knowledge that I am choosing to stay in a situation that I am fundamentally not okay with.

I would always have wondered whether I was allowed to walk away from something promising for no reason other than trusting my intuition; I would’ve questioned whether I was even strong enough to do it if I had to.

But I did, and now I know that I am.

I also know that whenever I do choose to stay, it will only be from a place of love, never fear. I never have to question the companionship I am willing to accept because I have never accepted anything dishonest — even when it has been really really hard to refuse, even if it meant that I had to be on my own.

Turns out that being on my own, even during the worst of times, isn’t really a bad thing to be.