And every time it happened, my mind rushed in to smooth it over. He didn’t mean it like that. You probably caught him at a bad time. Don’t ruin the night. Just let it go.

I invested a lot of energy to accommodate his emotions. He was always good at explaining them—why he snapped, why he shut down. He made it all sound reasonable, but I caught him at the wrong moment. He wasn’t cruel. Just convincing. Slowly, I started to believe I was the one overreacting.

Because anytime I did try to bring something up (even gently), it somehow ended with me apologizing. For misreading him. For starting a fight. For killing the vibe. For making things heavier than necessary.

It started to feel like I was the one making our relationship difficult. Like my pain was an inconvenience. Something that kept getting in the way of us having a good time.

And I believed it. I truly believed it.

One afternoon, after another quiet argument that left me feeling small and scrambling to “keep the peace,” I caught myself mid-thought, asking, “What did he need from me right now?” And right after that, for the first time, another question followed: But…what do I need?

I couldn’t answer it.

That silence told me everything.

I felt so empty, like I was holding things in, scared that if I annoyed him too much, he’d leave me. I was trying everything not to lose him, but I didn’t even realize I was already losing myself.

That’s when I realized it was not only about how he treated me, but also about how I treated myself.

Now, I’m learning to check in with myself before I smooth things over. I’m learning that being loved should never come at a cost. Maybe that’s what healing is: remembering you belong to yourself first.