I Made a Vow to Leave Unhealthy Relationships After Realizing I Deserved Better

And a healthier relationship came my way.

“I’ve dealt with that kind of person before, and you don’t want to be that way,” I told her.

“Yet you still keep going back to him,” she replied.

Touché.

My mind was split between knowing I deserved better and still yearning for what I wanted: a relationship. I grasped at any kind of romantic relationship that would help me avoid loneliness, that would make me feel loved.

But deep down, I knew I should have left him before any of this started.

I then made a vow: I would stop putting up with people who didn’t deserve me, who didn’t treat me right, who didn’t make me feel good about myself. The unhappiness I felt overpowered the loneliness I was running from, and I knew it was well past the time to say goodbye.

I couldn’t help but look back on our relationship, on everything that had gone wrong. Maybe I was desperate to remember why our relationship wasn’t worth it so I wouldn’t go back on my vow. I remembered and realized a lot.

I should have left him when I forgot what I needed to give him everything I had, everything he wanted, when he wanted it. I couldn’t decipher what I truly wanted from what I felt willing to give, but I shouldn’t have had to deal with that fight in my head. People had stolen so much from me already — my body, my emotional labor — how was I supposed to know what was truly mine anymore?

I should have left him when he stepped in front of the sun and created a shadow. When I realized how he towered over me, in stature, in vocal level, in strength of opinion, in needing to be right. I should have left him when the sound of vultures swarming around us woke me up like a bird’s morning chirping, but sounded more like a dying animal than a baby bird’s birth.

I should have left him when I tried to tell him my secrets, gingerly, and he shut his eyes and ears, hanging padlocks like earrings, sliding glue along his eyelashes.

I should have left him when they told me to. When my friends told me who he was behind closed doors. Who he was both when I was and wasn’t looking. When they asked me repeatedly why I still talked to him. When his lips covered mine, inhibiting me from speaking, from saying “no.”

I should have left him when I heard war erupting from his voice, spilling over onto my lap, scratching at my ears. The smoke of his angry words slipped up nose and in the crevices of his room, a space we shared. I should have left him when his anger turned into exclamations and screams that triggered old memories of fear.

I reminded myself often that if he or she scares you, that relationship isn’t healthy, and we are worth our health.

I should have left him when our relationship was more unhealthy than healthy, when I felt like nothing more than something, when my friend told me someone who truly respected me wouldn’t treat me that way.

I should have remembered the situations that led me to think that behavior was okay, that I deserved it. When she cared for someone else more than she cared for me, and I stood right in front of her, crying. When I let him in my room, myself, and I shouldn’t have.

I am the voices of hundreds of girls hanging like forgotten keys on the hook by the door. I try not to blame myself for becoming one of them. This time, I walk out of the room, not into it.

My feet catch on the welcome mat, but even my tripping directs me forward.

Leaving him meant going back to when I was a young, new girl, a budding flower. Before they screamed when I cried. Before I felt someone else’s hands on me. Before I felt fear or discomfort or disgust or depression. Before that all happened repeatedly. Before I lost so much.

But lose him and remember my worth. Lose him and find someone who treats me like I now know I deserve. Losing isn’t always what hurts. And depending on the relationship, losing doesn’t have to mean an ultimate loss: It can also mean saying no, standing up for myself and not spending too much time with or staying with people who hurt me.

I look back on all of those “shoulds” and don’t judge myself. Instead, for possibly the first time, I have compassion for who I used to be and what I went through. I use my newfound knowledge to help myself grow, not to look back with disgust.

Flash forward to today, and I’m much happier with my relationships now. I’m holding onto my vow and I’m so thankful for that. I’m with people who are incredibly patient with me, who love me as much as I love them. I’m honest about my feelings when I’m hurt, and I’ve learned a lot in love. I feel worthy, and even when I feel lonely, I know I’m not alone.

Love feels different when it’s right — and you’ll know, deep down, when it’s right.

Fight for that feeling.

“Raise your hopeful voice you have a choice / You’ll make it now… You have suffered enough / And warred with yourself / It’s time that you won.” -Glen Hansard and Marketa Irglova, “Falling Slowly”