“It’s not you, it’s me”.

How we soften the blow of the hammer that will break a heart. And, avoid confrontation with a person that definitely is “it”.

When we are raised to believe that the world is perfect, signs of imperfection mean it must be us.

People are well-meaning. Deep down, people are good-hearted.

Well. Then all of this tension and unhappiness and misery I feel must be my own doing.

I got married to a man I knew since we were 14 years old. After spending 11 years growing up, I thought this was it, right? How much more sure do you need to be before you vow to stay with someone forever?

Troubles really came to the surface after we got married and I lived with his parents.

First trouble- patriarchy in all its ugliness. I always thought I’d never get married.

How could a girl who had seen patriarchy’s ugliness in her mother’s life and all around her get married?

That was before I met him. After that, I didn’t give it much thought. It was the obvious course for a relationship that had survived (barely) for 11 years.

I got married and immediately knew something had gone down that was irretrievable.

Me.

I feel like I watched myself slowly die and wither inside a relationship that asked for all of me- my emotions, money, labor, sexuality, truth, honesty, and loyalty. And yet none of it was enough or reciprocated.

I was never enough, which brings me to the second trouble.

Toxicity and narcissism.

After I found out about my ex’s affair, the world came down on me. I started to see more clearly. A fog was lifted. I saw the manipulation, mind games, word salads, crazy conversations, gaslighting, and abuse.

Before that, I always tried to fix things as if “it” was me. I worked hard in my business so I could support his. I believed all the stories he told me as to why he needed money every single month and came home late and never contributed as much to the household anyway.

I believed everyone but me. I tried to fix myself when “it” was everyone else.

I discovered the shocking horror realities of my life when the rose-colored glass shattered that I was the survivor of narcissistic and domestic abuse, and I tried to fix it.

I convinced myself that only if I worked harder at it, loved harder, gave more, and complained less, things would fall into place and we would again be the happy and ecstatic lovers we once were.

His loyalty was all I had. So when that went away, it took the last thread of hope I was hanging on to. One by one, the layers peeled off and I could see what I was into.

Even though “it” wasn’t me, it kind of was.

It’s not you, it’s me who decided to stay for over a year after finding out about your affair.

It’s not you, it’s me who accepted breadcrumbs as if they were written in my fate.

It’s not you, it’s me who birthed false hope every day and nourished it with the last strength left in me.

It’s not you, it’s me who tricked me into believing I would hack marriage and extract patriarchy out of it.

It’s not you, it’s me, after all.

And it’s not you, it’s me who will rescue me from the realities I have been placed in.

All this while, my biggest fear was losing this person who was never fully mine.

It’s not you, it’s me. And, the worst thing would be losing me.