I Found Myself When My Relationship Ended
By: Molly Godfrey
Tags: Sexuality, Relationships, Self, Feminism, Women

“Can you take a day off?” No. “Can you just tell them you can’t come in?” No, I can’t.

These were conversations I used to have with my ex. At the time I was working weekends, and a big part of my training was student coordinating for relationship and intimacy classes. I loved my work and seeing people transform after coming in so hopeless. I was inflow. I was happy.

That changed whenever I came home. I almost felt guilty about how much I enjoyed my work life. It was almost like it was a part of me I tried to keep separate, to protect from him.

Ultimately, I didn’t believe I could be a fully powerful woman in his presence. Or take up space. Be in my purpose and have a man (him) love and support me unconditionally. I didn’t think both could exist. I also couldn’t see I didn’t have the skills to navigate a demanding job while in a committed relationship.

But, he was my best friend. I had never felt more in love with someone despite all of our struggles. Being together was pure joy.

I loved that he fought for it. It touched that part of me that felt wanted and important.

So I made myself smaller.

I didn’t want to lose him or the relationship. I started to skip events to get home earlier. I would cut it close in the morning so we could be in bed until the last very minute, prying myself out of his arms, telling him we needed to stop having sex. When he complained I spent too much time with my girlfriends, that I was “different” when I got home from seeing them, I didn’t fight him. More and more, little by little, I shrank to keep him happy.

In that process, I abandoned myself.

I didn’t trust we could be in love and in purpose. I put up with more and more fights, with his anger. When he told me he’d break up with me in a week if I didn’t get an IUD, I got the IUD. Deep down I knew to concede, abandon my own body, would be a pretty final straw.

The more I shrank to “keep” the relationship, the further apart we grew.

And then it happened.

It had been feeling weird between us for a couple of days. I couldn’t reach him. Trying to get him to communicate felt like pulling teeth.

He sent a heavy “Hey” followed by, “are you somewhere you can talk?”

I picked up the phone and called him, silence on the other end.

“Hello?”

“Molly. So… I hooked up with... I wanted to —”

Click.

I happened to be home for my Mom’s annual “Harvest Moon” bonfire when this all happened. I came downstairs after receiving his phone call to come eat dinner. I just remember staring at the plate of food, speechless. It was as if a bomb went off and everything was silent and I was definitely injured. Then I started crying …“but I love him”. It was all that could come out.

He texted later that night, begging. “Please, I made a mistake.”

So we tried. I made conditions to rebuild trust.

A few days in, I finally lost it. All the times I stopped listening to that voice. All the times I put up with what I didn’t deserve. I argued and argued for how much I loved him but I stopped loving myself in the process.

In a total rage, I threw every piece of furniture in our apartment at him (he’s a black belt by the way). I kicked him out, screamed at the top of my lungs. I got back inside. I had never prayed but I legitimately had no idea what to do, I had nothing left. I didn’t even recognize the woman I was anymore. I fell onto my knees, sobbing.