I Thought It Was Love—It Was Control

He wasn’t cruel in obvious ways. That’s what made it so confusing.

He’d compliment me, then follow it with a subtle critique. He’d say he was “just being honest” when he pointed out my flaws. When I cried, he told me I was manipulating him. When I distanced myself, he called me cold. And when I tried to leave, he suddenly became the sweetest man alive.

The cycle was so dizzying that I began to lose myself in it.

I used to think love meant holding on through anything. That if I just worked harder, stayed quieter, gave more—it would finally be enough.

But real love doesn’t feel like walking on eggshells. It doesn’t make you question your sanity. It doesn’t call you names and then kiss your forehead.

Leaving was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. Not because I missed him—because I had to find myself again.

But I did. And now, when I feel peace in my own presence, I realize: That is what love should feel like.