I learned not to let fear make my decisions

I’ve always been mesmerized — and honestly, a little terrified — of the ocean

Seven months ago, I called off my engagement.

It was the hardest decision I’ve ever made.

If I’m honest, I knew what I needed to do for a while before I actually went through with it. I knew where I wanted to be, what I wanted life to look like…  and deep down, I understood what I had to do to get there.

But actually doing it was a different story.

I felt trapped. I wasn’t happy in my relationship, but I saw no way out that wasn’t ridiculously painful and messy and horrible and absolutely the last thing I wanted to go through or put my fiance through.

Little girls dream of our weddings, right?

We’re inundated with romance almost from the time we’re born. We fantasize about Prince Charming, about dances or dinners or whatever our individual vision of perfection is.

And as different as those visions are, I’m pretty certain of this: No little girl dreams of calling off her engagement.

It’s just not part of the plan. No one says “yes” to a shiny ring looking forward to giving it back.

As I came to the realization that my nearly five-year relationship wasn’t healthy, I was completely overwhelmed.

Questions raced through my mind. Anxiety was quick to follow. How had I been so blind? Was I going crazy and just imagining things? What if I never found anyone else to put up with me — what if I never wanted to? What would people think of me? How much hurt would I cause?

I wasn’t happy.

I didn’t feel valued or encouraged or trusted. I know every relationship has its ups and downs, but the essential components of healthy communication were missing in mine — we just weren’t working through things. I wasn’t sure if we ever would.

As I spent more time thinking about it, anxiety turned to full-blown panic. I realized I had stayed in a relationship for nearly a quarter of my life that wasn’t good for either of the people in it. Neither of us was thriving.

We were holding each other back.

I tried to work things out for a few months, suggesting everything from couples’ counseling to daily Skype calls (we were long distance), and nothing seemed to work.

Eventually, I was talking to my best friend when the words slipped out: “I just wish we weren’t engaged.”

She looked at me with a serious face and asked if I realized what I had just said.

I did.

I knew, somehow, that my decision had been made. I couldn’t ignore what I was feeling. The red flags I had denied for ages finally obscured my whole vision. I had spoken it out loud: I didn’t want to be in my relationship anymore.

But I felt trapped.

We had been together for so long, and I had made commitments. We were planning a wedding. His friends were my friends. His family had welcomed me.

And for all of our problems, I cared about him.

Things were far from perfect, but that didn’t mean leaving was easy.

I remember crying in my bed for what felt like days. I was fortunate to have an amazing support network — my roommates, family, and other friends and mentors were absolutely incredible — but I still felt terrified. And despite the chorus of voices telling me I had their support, I still felt alone.

I was treading water in fear.

I was afraid of causing pain. I was afraid of hurting my fiance and his family and our mutual friends who would be shoved into a horrible position.

No matter what I did or how I did it, I knew I would complicate the lives of people who didn’t deserve it.

More selfishly — and, I’ll admit, at times more saliently — I was afraid of what people would think. I had spent so much time acting like I was the happiest girl in the world with my fiance, posting all the right photos, saying all the right things.

And at times we were happy, but it was nothing like I wanted to pretend it was.

What would people think when they saw I was no longer engaged? What would they say when they realized I had been the one to leave?

I was afraid of being branded as “that girl”.

The one who was foolish and too young and stupid. The one who pined for perfection and then threw away the love she did find. The one who called off her engagement.

The one with baggage.

What if no one else ever wanted to love me because they were afraid of the scarlet letter I bore? And if I did find someone, what would people think when I moved on? What if they thought I was cruel — what if I was?

There was something about the fact that I said yes to an engagement that seemed to make the whole situation worse.

Yes, people change and grow and realize things they didn’t know before… but once you’ve committed, you’re supposed to stick it out.

I spent what seemed like an endless amount of time in this purgatory of “I’m not happy” but “I don’t think I can leave.” Maybe I was crazy. Maybe I was overreacting. Maybe I was actually a horrible person. I went back and forth trying to think my way out of the panic.

Finally, my fiance and I had a conversation that left me shaking. It doesn’t matter what was said. What matters is that I looked at myself in the mirror afterward and realized that I am the person who has to live my life.

I am the one who has to wake up every day and face the consequences of my decisions.

I am the one who has to deal with the situations I put myself in. No one else.

I need to be conscious of the way my choices affect those around me. But at the end of the day, I’m the one in my head.

I’m the one in my relationship.

I’m the one who would have to wake up unhappy every day because I let fear keep me from being honest with myself.

It is my life to live, and it is my life to love.

It is not the life of strangers who might be confused by my changed relationship status, not the life of people in the future who might view me a certain way, not the life of gossipers.

This life is mine — and I am the only one who will be actually living it, every single day, from here on out, forever.

If somebody doesn’t like something I do, they can leave. They can distance themselves from it.

But I am stuck with me and I am stuck with my choices. If I stayed because I was scared of being branded as “that girl,” I would not only be making myself suffer for an external image that doesn’t even matter, but I’d also be acting dishonestly.

We live in a society of “never give up”. I usually support that wholeheartedly. Obstacles are going to come our way in everything we do — resilience and persistence and dedication are all admirable.

But making a choice to leave an unhealthy situation — especially after trying to work it out — is not “giving up.” It isn’t “not caring.” And no matter what people think, no matter what they say, I am the one who has to deal with my decisions.

I’m not going to let fear make them for me.

Like what you're reading? Learn more about me or check out my featured work.