Summary

The narrative recounts a woman's journey through a marriage that eroded her sense of self, leading to a difficult breakup that ultimately became a catalyst for her self-reclamation.

Abstract

The author shares a personal story of how her marriage to a man who sought to define her led to a loss of identity. Initially confident and raised to be strong, she found herself succumbing to her husband's traditional views, which prioritized his needs and diminished her individuality. The marriage's dissolution brought about a period of self-doubt and uncertainty, exacerbated by the husband's refusal to finalize the breakup, which further drained her spirit. However, through introspection and self-acceptance, she rediscovered her worth and began to rebuild her life, reclaiming the essence of who she is beyond the labels imposed by her past relationship.

Opinions

The author believes that one should not allow others to define their identity.
She expresses that it's important to maintain personal boundaries and prioritize oneself, even within a marriage.
The narrative suggests that emotional greed in a relationship can lead to the loss of one's individuality.
The author indicates that a breakup, while painful, can also be liberating and a chance for personal growth.
She emphasizes the importance of self-reflection and reconnection with one's core values after a significant loss.
The author warns against the dangers of slowly and unintentionally losing oneself in a relationship.
She acknowledges that strength and resilience can emerge from vulnerability and self-doubt.
The author concludes by advocating for the importance of being true to oneself, despite external pressures or circumstances.

A Breakup Broke My Spirit

I lost the essence of who I am

My life was interrupted. I guess you can say I let it happen. I allowed it. I’m not a victim. I’m more of an unsuspecting accomplice.

He wanted to tell me who I was.

I didn’t believe him. I never let the outside world define me. I was smarter than that. An indescribable woman raised me to believe I was everything. She made me trust a world that saw her version of me.

I stood tall.

Until I left her grasp for his.

The man I married posed as my best friend. I thought we were creating our world. But we were assembling his. I didn’t notice. I was a party girl in my twenties. It wasn’t the most clarifying decade. The realities of work and responsibilities were heavily dosed by cocktails and compadres.

Life was good.

Our emotional merger would be a team sport. Aren’t all relationships? I wasn’t losing who I was. I was gaining a tall handsome drink of water. We would enhance one another.

Not cancel each other out.

The first few tears felt unfamiliar.

Happy girls don’t cry. I looked toward the woman who taught me who I was. Her strength diminished by age and a ravishing disease. I cried for her. And then I cried for myself. The tears he induced shattered my face while her grief consumed them.

My confidante was gone, there would be no rescue, no mother to caution me.

He would continue to tell me who I was.

And I would let him. Not because I was weak or insecure. Not because I was scared or dependent. Not because I was intimidated or confused.

Because I was unsuspecting.

I didn’t know you could shed yourself in favor of another. Worse, they will let you. I didn’t know selfishness existed on an incomprehensible level. One that’s foreign to a giver.

No one told me to protect who I am.

If not, I might one day feel hopeLESS, powerLESS, and directionLESS,

Instead of hopeFUL, powerFUL, and purposeFUL.

A formerly confident girl would now ask herself who am I? Even turn on herself. Dislike herself. Be hard on herself. Beat herself up and cry new tears. Ones no longer induced by an ill-intentioned ogre.

Ones she thrust upon herself.

Because she had foolishly lost peace with who she was.

It happened along the way. I was the girl who married a boy. The woman who quit her job to help him build a business. The mother of three beautiful children.

All of these decisions were deliberate.

They were focused.

As was the breakup that followed them. They were also subtle and unassuming. A pull in the direction of the man I married. He fancied himself a traditional man. A husband, business owner with a stay-at-home wife. He accomplished what he set out to achieve.

I probably should have said no when he asked me to build the business.

I should have set boundaries as a woman instead of traditionally doing it all.

I should have prioritized myself.

I didn’t understand emotional greed. I didn’t understand playing roles in a relationship could replace ‘Colleen’ with a word called ‘wife.’ A generic term without any value. If placed in the hands of the wrong man.

He would take and take without asking if I wanted more.

A breakup liberated me. It wasn’t without penance. I beat myself up for my mistakes. The family order my children would no longer know. My poor behavior as I fought to save a marriage. The loss of a man who didn’t deserve me.

I would survive.

I could feel myself within my reach.

But he wouldn’t allow the breakup. In those five years, he took what was left of me. Who I was and who I am. Once again, stealing the focus. There was no time to concentrate on me. I was surviving not thriving.

He broke my spirit.

The essence of who I am. I was tired, doubting myself, and uncertain of where I belonged. I no longer lacked boundaries with a man. I lacked them with myself. I was my worst enemy.

I bought a new label.

The broken woman. The struggling girl who lost the life she built. It was a sob story. One that was invented by a financial crisis I found it difficult to recover from.

Until I made peace with her.

And reminded her who she was. Someone who never let the outside world define her. Someone who was smarter than that. Someone who stood tall.

My life was interrupted. I guess you can say I let it happen. I allowed it. I’m not a victim. I’m more of an unsuspecting accomplice.

Be careful of people who talk you out of being you.