At age 20, I called off my toxic engagement

Then I cried myself to sleep for weeks and felt helplessly alone… but I grew through it

I wish someone had told me it wasn’t normal. I wish I’d had the courage to ask.

I stayed for nearly five years because I thought no one else would put up with me. I stayed because I wanted to feel loved.

I stayed because I didn’t know how to leave.

In March 2018, at 20 years old, I called off my engagement.

To this day it takes the cake as the worst moment of my life — yet also the most liberating.

It wasn’t horrible the whole time. There was no physical abuse. The red flags were small and hard to see and easy to explain away.

My ex isn’t a horrible person, and he didn’t commit any one offense so terrible that he deserves to be slandered.

But it wasn’t right. And I didn’t know any better.

I thought that if I loved harder, things would improve. I thought that if I gave more of myself, the effort could chase away the pit plaguing my stomach.

I thought that my relationship was all that there was, that nothing better existed, that I just needed to be happy with what I had… even though I wasn’t happy at all.

I spent years pretending.

I acted like I was overcome with joy when in reality I was anxious and insecure. I didn’t feel valued. I didn’t feel trusted.

And instead of addressing those concerns head-on like a more mature person would have, I internalized and tried to fight them off either passive-aggressively or not at all.

My ex went through my phone without my permission. He checked my Facebook messages behind my back. He constantly asked if guys were talking to me and assumed that every male I interacted with had some malicious intent to ruin our relationship.

I knew that these things weren’t okay. But he framed them in such a concerned and genuine way that I ended up shrugging off unhealthy signal after unhealthy signal.

Maybe I was wrong to talk to any guys besides him. Maybe he did just love me so much that jealousy was a natural reaction, and after all we were long distance and of course that’s hard.

Maybe there was nothing to be concerned about.

Looking back, there were so many moments that should have stopped me in my tracks.

Once I was doing Spanish homework with two friends in my dorm room, and I was snapchatting my ex off and on.

I didn’t send him a picture of the two girls I was with, and sometimes I took a few minutes to respond because my classmates and I were in the middle of translating a question — so he said it seemed like I was with a guy.

Instead of calling him on his bullshit (of course I didn’t respond right away, I was literally doing my homework and why on earth would you think I’m with a guy for no reason) I bowed down and basically begged for forgiveness, promising I hadn’t been with a guy, promising to send him pictures of everyone I hung out with from then on, promising promising promising to bend to his unhealthy restrictions.

And probably making myself sound guilty all the while, even though I had truthfully been with two of my female friends from class.

There were a lot of examples like that.

They were small things, but they added up — and they hurt.

Like the time I went to an event where therapy dogs are brought to campus buildings for stress relief and didn’t reply to his text for a while, so he again accused me of being with a guy. I left early — even though I love dogs more than pretty much anything — to FaceTime him and assure him of my devotion.

Or the time I was a teaching assistant and wrote an email to my supervisor expressing concern about one of my (male) students, stating that I “cared about him immensely” and needed help with next steps to make sure he was okay.

My ex latched onto the words “cared immensely” and said it sounded like I must know the student outside of class. He didn’t care about people who were almost strangers — and I shouldn’t either.

I spent an entire weekend trying to make him believe my relationship with this student was purely based on the classroom.

Or the time a guy I’d previously had a class with waved me over to sit by him on the first day of a new semester, and when my ex asked who I sat by in every class that day he decided this boy must have a crush on me.

I blocked the classmate on all social media and avoided his gaze for months, ending a potentially great friendship in an unfair, hurtful, confusing way.

The worst part about these situations — and all the others that still sometimes make me feel anxious when I talk to someone of the opposite gender — wasn’t my ex’s behavior. The jealousy and lack of trust are evident looking back, and they sucked.

But what really makes me nauseous is the way I responded.

I never held my ground. I never brought up my concerns openly. I never got righteously angry at the accusations that fundamentally attacked my character.

No, instead I allowed every ounce of unhealthy behavior. I let the jealousy make me feel wanted.

And I didn’t just allow it — I damn encouraged it.

I became jealous and clingy myself. I thought maybe I’d give him a taste of his own medicine, that he’d realize how ridiculous he was being.

I tried to explain away the anxiety I felt, I tried to cast the insecurity on other past experiences, I tried to paint the illusion that we were happy and supportive and “oh my gosh look at us high school sweethearts ruling the world!!”

It was all bullshit. We weren’t happy. We weren’t supportive.

He didn’t trust me, clearly — and honestly, I didn’t trust him either. He didn’t support my career aspirations — and I didn’t really support his elongated education.

We didn’t make each other better in any way. We held each other back.

It just wasn’t healthy. I wanted it to be, but I didn’t know how — and I didn’t have the courage or the strength to really even try.

For most of the time I was with him, I was oblivious to just how bad things were.

So many realizations have only come with the clear eyes of hindsight.

I was young and immature. I wanted it to be perfect. I pretended it was perfect.

And in the end, my denial only hurt everyone more.

By the time I hit my breaking point after working to develop some independent confidence, we were planning a wedding.

I’d spent nearly a quarter of my life with him. And all of a sudden I felt so trapped — and stupid, and foolish, and a thousand other horrible things.

I was the dumb girl who got engaged too young and then called it off. I was the stereotype. I was the heartbreaker. I was all of these things that no little girl dreams of being. I was all of these things it is impossible to take lightly.

It took months to make my decision to leave. I finally tried to talk to him about the underlying issues that cracked the foundation of our relationship — but it was too late. The conversations weren’t healthy. More accusations were made.

I could finally see that there was no going back.

There’s only moving forward.

Am I still furious at him for some of the ways I was treated? Absolutely.

Does part of me blame him for the fact that I’m constantly thanking my current boyfriend for doing simple, decent things like encouraging me to hang out with my friends? 100 percent.

Am I terrified that I will never be able to have full confidence in a relationship ever again? More than I’d like to admit.

But the truth is that I made just as many mistakes in my relationship as my ex did.

A lot of his behavior was inexcusable… and so was a lot of mine. Just because you can explain the reasons that you did something doesn’t mean that thing was okay.

I can look at the moves I made and tell you why they seemed right at the time, but that doesn’t give me a free pass.

And it doesn’t give him one either.

We weren’t right for each other. Neither of us woke up in the morning with the intent to hurt the other. I don’t think he meant to be emotionally abusive, and I didn’t mean to allow and encourage and fire back with passive-aggressiveness of my own.

But at the end of the day, he was. And I did.

I’m not proud of who I became in that relationship.

I’m not proud of the stigma I now carry as “the girl” who got engaged — and broke it off — at 20.

I’m not proud of the pain I caused, the collateral damage I sent rippling out at so many people who did not deserve it.

But I am damn proud of what I now know.

I’m proud of who I am becoming. I’m proud that I had the strength to do what needed to be done, even if it was years behind what would have been the ideal time. I’m proud that I’m moving on.

I’m proud that I’m loving again.

Mostly, I’m proud that I’m sharing this story — this story that seems so innocent and perhaps even frivolous compared to the abuse countless women and men experience each day — to tell people like you that you don’t deserve to be treated like this.

Just because things aren’t horrible doesn’t mean they’re good.

Just because you’re not being beaten doesn’t mean you’re being loved.

If something doesn’t feel right, it’s okay to speak up. If something doesn’t feel right, it’s okay to leave. Someone else will put up with you — and they won’t make it seem like a chore. Someone else will love you.

Most importantly, you will learn to love yourself.

If something doesn’t feel right, go find what does.

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