I met my ex in 2017 through my sister-in-law’s best friend. We exchanged numbers, but there was no real connection back then we were both seeing other people. It felt like just another introduction that would fade into nothing.

Fast forward to 2020. We ran into each other again at a family gathering, and things were different this time. We talked. We laughed. And not long after, a relationship began. My sister-in-law warned me against it; she said he had a girlfriend. When I confronted him, he told me the relationship was over. His explanation didn’t quite add up, but I was already falling. And love has a way of silencing logic.

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He had just finished his national service and was searching for work. I had been working for five years and was doing okay financially. So I supported him. When I bought something for myself, I made sure he got one too. I carried the relationship financially and emotionally without hesitation. I thought that’s what love looked like.

He lived with his parents, so I visited often. That’s when I began to notice something unsettling. His family knew all his long-term exes. One had been with him for four years, another for five. He’d ended those relationships suddenly, regardless of their length. That should have been a red flag, but I ignored it. I told myself I was different. I believed I could be the one he’d actually stay for.

Our first year was chaotic. He was manipulative and toxic. He would lie, and when I caught him, he’d twist the truth so skilfully that I found myself apologising to him, even begging just to make peace. I cried a lot, but I couldn’t leave. I didn’t have the strength. I loved him, or at least I loved the version of him I’d imagined.

In 2021, he got a job. Though his salary wasn’t consistent, I continued supporting him. Around that time, I was assigned a car at work, and I drove him to work and picked him up every day for two years. I’m not sure how many women would go that far, but I believed in him. I believed in us.

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We dated for almost three years. And I’m not perfect; I made mistakes. There were countless moments when I wanted to leave. The pain was suffocating. He isolated me from my friends. He’d randomly call and accuse me of being somewhere else, then laugh it off like it was a joke. Gaslighting became the language of our relationship.

In November 2023, I lost my job. I was emotionally shattered and told him I needed space. Weeks later, I called to apologize to him , hoping to repair things. But he had already made his decision. He said he didn’t want to continue. He said I wasn’t a good person. That we weren’t even sexually compatible after three years of intimacy. He said no man would want a woman like me.

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By then, his life had completely transformed. He was thriving. Travelling. He didn’t need me anymore. It felt like he’d been waiting for the moment when I was at my weakest to walk away. And when he did, he made sure to take what remained of my self-esteem with him.

It’s been almost two years now. He’s moved on. But I feel stuck. He convinced me that I’m the problem that I’m not good enough, that I’ll ruin any relationship I enter. And sadly, part of me still believes him. His voice echoes in my head, sometimes louder than my own.

But here’s what I’m learning: healing isn’t linear. Some days, I believe I’m worthy of love. Other days, I don’t. Some days, I can see how I was manipulated and I’m still learning how to silence his voice. I’m still learning how to believe in myself again.

—Tina

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