After a breakup, a lot of women spend weeks and even months questioning the reality of their relationship. When I went through a breakup a couple of years ago, people in my comments were quick to tell me “He just wasn’t that into you.”
And what I tell women today is the same thing I said in a video response back then: It doesn’t matter. It doesn’t matter if he loved me. It doesn’t matter if he snowed me, manipulated and lied to me. It doesn’t matter if the whole thing was a sham. I enjoyed it. I enjoyed him. I told him and said it on TikTok, “I’m going to enjoy you as long as you’re enjoyable.”
I always knew it was going to end. Neither of us were ready for a commitment. But I wasn’t guarded either. My heart was and is open. I don’t want to close myself off and miss out on these beautiful experiences.
But what if?
What if he really was lying and none of it was real for him? What if he was lying about his feelings for me? What if his tears weren’t real and he was pretending to be distraught over our breakup and wanting to see us through? What if all the love and compassion he showed me, all the beautiful restraint in moments other men would have proven unsafe, what if it was all pretend?
Either he didn’t know who he was and he was mirroring me, in which case I actually fell in love with me, not him. Sad.
Or he was so unattractive to me, he thought he needed to be someone else to be with me, in which case, I never loved him. I loved a fake version of him who doesn’t exist. Doubly sad.
It’s not a character flaw to trust. It’s not a deficit to believe in someone. It’s a strength to trust people and believe in them. The deficit is his for thinking he had to lie. The flaw is putting on a mask to manipulate a woman. If he lied, he dishonored himself, not me.
I was authentic and true, except for a couple of times I’ll admit, I was a little insecure and said or did something cringey. I’m sure he had those moments too, but I believe he was as authentic as he knew how to be. In moments he wasn’t being himself, I don’t have any reason to believe it was deliberately manipulative.
I believe he was sincere, at least as much as he was aware. I believe him when he said in a phone call after we broke up, “I don’t know who I am when I’m with you.” I believe he has suffered so much criticism in his life that he genuinely doesn’t know who he is and what he wants. He goes along to get along. He wants to be wanted, needs to be needed.
I’ll never forget the way he flinched at the sushi place when I said I wanted a man who would dance with me. “It’s kind of a dealbreaker,” I said with a wink. I only meant someone to hold me and sway to a slow song, but I think he thought I meant a seasoned Merengue dancer who would sweep me off my feet. He winced, loudly, as though his chances with me had just dropped off a cliff.
I saw the same face when we met last November and he asked me clumsily if I was seeing “Dope Dad” from TikTok. Sam and I had been friends, and sure, I had a bit of a TikTok crush on him, but it was never serious. I was stunned by the question. He must have been watching my content last summer when I defended Sam after his breakup. He’s a good man, a good friend, but not a romantic interest in the least. Still, there was that wince on his face, like he was bracing himself for my response.
I understand the insecurity. I’ve been there. I’ve sat across from someone, hoping they would return my affection and see no flaws in me. I’ve even shaped myself to be what they want, though it made my stomach turn and the truth quickly righted itself. But being on this side of it now is strange. I feel nothing but compassion for B now. I get it. I can see his conflict. But I need someone who’s sure of me, who believes me when I tell him how much I adore him. Who doesn’t need me to prove it a hundred different ways because he’s so caught up in his own head he can’t see it.
Where have we gone wrong?
Women have been conditioned to place importance on a man’s feelings for her. She has been taught to value his love more than hers. She’s been made to feel her experience is less valuable than his. Her worth depends on his feelings. She is only worthy of love if he loves her. But what happens when we take away his experience and focus only on hers?
When I was with B, I experienced love. I adored him, and came to love him. At first, it was a platonic love. I just thought he was fun, funny, smart, and we clicked. Bigger things like family values and life goals weren’t on the table yet and we were just enjoying each other platonically.
Despite sexual chemistry, I just loved him as a friend at first. I would have hung out with him every day and not felt like it was too much. It was just fun. But then of course the chemistry was there and it started to feel like more. As we began a sexual relationship, the friendship deepened for me. I began to feel a connection between the platonic and the sexual and it was beautiful.
In the moment I didn’t know it, but that friend connection actually enhanced the sexual connection and vice versa. The whole experience became a bit more spiritual for me with that gap bridged. And as he poured out his heart to me about his life and other experiences in love, my heart swelled and I fell deeper in love.
It was in the last few weeks together that I started to think about a future with him. I could feel him doing the same, but it was different for him. For him, I imagine it was like skydiving would be for me. Like, yeah, it sounds fun on paper, but I don’t care how good the view is, I’m not jumping out of a plane with only a piece of fabric to keep me from death.
But for me the idea of enmeshing our lives a little more was less dramatic. It felt more like moving to a new country. I’m still getting on a plane, but to me, there’s certainty in landing and unpacking on another shore. I may not know the language, but I can learn. I might not know exactly what our life would be like, but I know him and I can do anything with him.
He’d tell me I romanticize things too much and I’d tell him to tighten his chute get me a coffee.
We’re different people with different lives and different experiences. His is valid, but so is mine. His experience scared him. Mine made my heart—and courage—grow. I loved. I laughed. I felt safe. I felt connected. And I was ready for a future. All of that is mine. He can’t take it from me. Even if none of it was real for him and he was lying, he can’t take away that love. That love is mine.
So as you navigate a breakup, or revisit an old relationship that was hard to let go, remember who you are and how you loved. Let them have their reality as they saw and hang onto yours. Yours is what matters. Love them. Love you. And then spread that love around.
Offering
I didn't show you my scars to get your sympathy I only wanted you to know I had them too I didn't open my heart to scare you with it It wasn't an ambush, it was a proffering There was no agenda to make you fall in love with me It was you I wanted to fall into I thought you deserved to know how deep love can go When love is not debt, but offering
I’ve updated my website this week — take a look!
Visit natlajune.com for more about me and the work I do, including my books, more poetry, and community resources for healing from sexual coercion. I’m working on moving everything from alwaysmending.com to this website for a more permanent location as the mending name is being retired.
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