I think we’ve all been through it. The type of guy who, afterwards, makes you question everything. The one who says “I love you” once every two weeks, and if you ask about it, you’re being needy, it’s just that he’s not that type of guy. The one who doesn’t really value you, but does it so smoothly that you spend months thinking the problem is your expectations. The one who makes you believe that this is love and not control. And every time you ask about the girl he follows on Instagram, he tells you you’re being crazy and controlling, and somehow you end up apologising for asking.
And then you start doubting your own memory. Maybe he did tell me she was just a friend and I forgot? Maybe I’m making this up? You replay old conversations in your head, trying to find the moment you got it wrong. I could keep going, but I think you get the point. And honestly, I think it’s a canon event.
What makes it worse is that it never starts bad. It starts with the best month of your life. He’s attentive, he’s funny, he remembers everything, and you think okay, finally, this is it. Then little things start to slip in. A comment about your outfit that’s technically a joke. A “you’re so dramatic” after you cried. A mood you have to decode for two days. And because he was so good at the beginning, you start wondering if it’s something you did. Maybe I changed. Maybe I ruined it. So you spend the whole relationship trying to get that guy back, like he’s a lost phone you’re sure is still somewhere in the house.
Meanwhile, everyone around you has already figured him out. Your friends hate him and you assume they’re jealous. They don’t know him like you do, obviously. They don’t see him when it’s just the two of you, when he’s soft and sweet and tells you nobody has ever understood him the way you do. “You don’t get it, when it’s good, it’s REALLY good, you know?” And the thing you don’t understand at the time is that it’s ALMOST NEVER chemistry. It’s relief. After days of waiting for any crumb of attention, five minutes of affection feels like a drug, and you start thanking him for the bare minimum. He replied the same day? So sweet. He remembered my birthday? What a catch!!!!!
And everyone reacts differently, which is honestly the part that hurts to remember. There’s the friend who tells you straight, with zero filter, the very first time. There’s the one who says nothing but gives you a very specific look every time his name comes up. And there’s the one who is just tired, because she has now heard the same story seven times and the ending never changes. You hate all three of them a little. You roll your eyes at the group chat. You start leaving things out when you tell the story, editing it so that he comes out slightly better than he was, because you already know what they’re going to say.
And without noticing, you become his full-time PR team. You know every argument by heart. He had a hard childhood. He’s just bad at texting. He’s going through a lot at work……. You defend him to the people who love you, with a level of commitment you’ve never once applied to your own career.
Then comes the first real fight with your best friend. Believe me, I’ve been there. She tells you she can’t keep doing this, because it’s the seventh time this week you’ve broken up, and you swore you were NEVER going back. But you do. You always do. And when that happens, you pull away, because he’s been telling you they’re not real friends, that they’re just against the two of you. So now you’re alone, and who’s there to comfort you? Him!!! Because he’s the only one who understands you, he’s the one who loves you. (I’m laughing just remembering this. It’s not funny, i know).
This is the part I wish someone had explained to me earlier: it’s very rarely one big moment. It’s a hundred tiny ones. A friend you don’t call back because you don’t want to explain. A dinner you skip because he’d be in a mood. A birthday you leave early. Nobody takes your friends away from you in one go, you hand them over slowly, thinking you’re protecting the relationship. And when you finally come back, they don’t say “I told you so.” They just let you in and take care of you. I still think about that more than I think about him. And if there’s something you can’t tell your friends because you already know what they’ll say, that’s your answer.
The worst part, though, is who you turn into. More jealous, more anxious, checking his phone while he’s in the shower, going through his following list and hoping it hasn’t changed from one hour ago. And one day you catch yourself in the mirror and you don’t recognise her.
So here’s where I might get controversial. For a long time I thought everyone needed this, that you had to go through it to learn what you want and what you’ll never accept again. I even thanked God I’d been through it. But I don’t believe that anymore. The damage that one person can do to your self-esteem is genuinely scary, and I don’t think anyone needs to be broken to learn what care looks like. So yes, it’s a canon event, but only because it happens to almost all of us, not because it should.
And it doesn’t end when he does. It stays in your body. A text takes too long and you’re on high alert. A guy is kind to you and your first thought is, what’s the catch? The calm, attentive ones feel boring, because your nervous system learned that love is anxiety, and no anxiety feels like no spark.
For a long time I overcorrected. I decided they were all the same, that he was perfect at the beginning too and they all show their true colours eventually. The tiniest thing and I’d be out the door, or worse, I’d be the detective again, scanning for a red flag before there was even a flag to find. Someone would take a few hours to reply and I genuinely couldn’t tell if it was a warning sign or just a person with a life. That’s the part nobody warns you about: he doesn’t only mess with how you see yourself, he messes with how you see everyone who comes after him. I had to ask for my trust back, from people who hadn’t done anything wrong.
But it’s not true that they’re all the same. I don’t believe in perfect people or perfect men, but there ARE good guys. Believe me. After YEARS of therapy, I’m starting to trust people again. Slowly, painfully slowly, but it’s possible. It’s possible that he won’t follow random girls on Instagram. It’s possible that he won’t text other girls. It’s possible that someone just treats you well, and that it won’t feel like a plot twist.
And if you’re in it right now, I’m not going to tell you to leave. You wouldn’t hear it, I didn’t. That’s the whole thing about a canon event: you have to get there on your own, in your own time, and no group chat intervention is going to speed it up. But I’ll tell you what I wish someone had said to me. When you do get there, you’re allowed to come back. Not to him, to them. The friends you stopped calling are probably still saving you a seat.