For the Delusional Romantics in the Wrong Relationship

I used to call myself an incurable romantic. It sounded so much better than hopeless. But if I’m honest with myself, it would have been more accurate to call myself a delusional romantic because I could take any relationship and add a glow to it that was all in my head.

Telling myself a story and believing it isn’t hard.

I’ve always been imaginative. For years, I lived more inside my head than out of it, so it makes sense that when life wasn’t working out the way I’d hoped, I’d spin the story so I could live with it. I wasn’t purposefully lying to myself. I needed to believe it. It might have looked like an act of desperation, but it was pure survival.

What made this even easier is that I lacked social support for several years. Without close family and friends around to provide love and support, I over-invested in my relationships with a you-and-me-against-the-world mentality. It made it easier to spin truth into a more palatable fiction.

But there is nothing romantic about staying in unhealthy relationships and pretending to be happy. We’re caged, and the bars are of our own making — carefully constructed by narratives that create a sense of intimacy that probably doesn’t exist. We have the key, but we don’t yet have the courage to use it.

Looking back, I can see that there were things that made it easier for me to step out of delusion and start facing facts.

I started with stronger social support.

I decided to be honest with my closest friend about what I was thinking and feeling. Instead of projecting the idea of a happy, long-term relationship, I admitted that I had been unhappy for so long that I couldn’t remember when it began. I only knew that I felt like a shadow of myself, slowly being erased by carelessness and neglect.

Being honest allowed friends to validate and support me as I made hard decisions, but it also showed me that I had people in my life who were safe enough to hear the truth and listen. No one told me I was wrong about how I felt. In fact, several people told me that they had been worried for a while. Strengthening other relationships in my life helped me find the courage to leave the one I had once built mythology around.

I threw away all my once carefully crafted plans.

My life hadn’t worked out the way I wanted despite all my best efforts. I hadn’t found my soulmate. I didn’t have a strong, loving partner to raise my kids with or a career that felt fulfilling. I wasn’t living the way I needed to live. I was merely surviving from one identical day to the next.

So, I threw out my careful plans and allowed myself to imagine that making the hard choices would allow for new opportunities to come into my life. I stopped imagining everything that could go wrong and started believing that my life could improve if only I were brave enough to make that first move. I drew up a new plan — one with plenty of flexibility worked into it.

I reevaluated my priorities.

To change my whole life, I had to reevaluate my priorities. This is an important part of any true plan for change. I thought about what I wanted my life to look like — not just the big picture but the daily details. What would my mornings look like? What did I want my work to involve? How would I spend my free time?

The answers begin to fall into place. I was going to be a single mom, but I was going to do it with a sense of adventure that I’d instill in my kids. I didn’t have a lot of money, but I’ve always been resourceful.

My career focus was initially on surviving as a single mom, but over time, I allowed myself to begin to dream again. This time, I dreamed my way into writing romance novels. I shared my story and experiences in a blog. I stopped spinning stories about my life and started telling the truth of it with a raw transparency that stunned those who were used to my deflection.

My priorities emerged as I worked to build a new life. I wanted time with my kids. I wanted my work to be fulfilling. And I never again wanted to settle for a romance that was anything but romantic. I wanted to love and be loved, and if I couldn’t have that in a romantic relationship, I’d find it in the rest of my wild and wonderful life.

I found myself in another delusional relationship. And then another.

I couldn’t understand how this could keep happening. I decided to launch an investigation into my relationship history to solve the mystery of why things weren’t working out for me in the way I’d hoped. One time, it was clear that I was tricked. I was manipulated into a relationship by a version of this man that did not exist in reality. When I finally saw the truth, the consequences were disastrous. I had to untangle my life from his and face the fact that I would have never engaged in that relationship had the truth been apparent from the start. I could forgive myself for not knowing better.

But the next time? That one still breaks my heart a little. I didn’t have to spin a romance. It was romantic — at first. It had all the elements of an epic love story. It would take years to realize that I had experienced a complete love bombing and was then left to spend even more time picking up the pieces.

At the beginning, there was no need to lie to myself. It was everything I had always wanted but never expected to happen to me. I was caught up in the whirlwind of feeling like I had found my person. Everything seemed to align. It was the happiest I’ve ever felt in a relationship.

But things changed. What was once a safe place for me became uncertain. Every wrong move I made meant more love was withdrawn, but it didn’t seem like I could make any right ones. So, I began to spin another story. I told myself that it was temporary. That if we were committed in good times and bad that I would weather all the bad he’d throw at me. I’d wait for the good to come back again.

The problem isn’t that I loved and supported someone struggling. The problem is that I abandoned myself in the process. I wasn’t supporting someone who was struggling but still loved me. I was lovingly supporting someone who wasn’t loving me anymore. I became one of the delulu girlies telling everyone that my relationship was a romance when it was just another tragedy. I committed to the story, and every time I did, I broke promises I’d made to myself.

I wasn’t being cherished, but I didn’t feel strong enough to leave. I clung to my delusion as if my wishes could make it real. I wasn’t asking for much — but I know now that I should have been asking for everything… and leaving when I didn’t get it.

Trauma therapy and time without him helped me heal.

I learned that my inability to leave him even though the relationship was no longer working could be traced straight back to childhood trauma. In the time that I was no longer spending with him or with thinking about him, I began to carefully rebuild my life — leaning on that social support, throwing out the ideas I’d had about how my life would go, and realigning my priorities.

I recommitted to the idea that it is far better to be single than to be with someone who makes us feel like we’re hard to love. This time, I would learn my lesson. This time, I wouldn’t have a fake-it-til-I-make-it view of romance. If the connection wasn’t right, I’d sever it. I wouldn’t build a cage made of stories and lock myself in the wrong relationship. Not ever again.

So, this one is for all the delusional romantics trying to make the wrong relationship right by wishing it to be so. For the ones who love hard but settle for whatever love they can get. For the gentle people who keep getting bruised by life but finding the strength to try again.

We’ve been told so many times in so many ways that we’re too much or not enough, never just right. But we were always worthy of being loved. We just had to learn to love ourselves more than we love the idea of romance — to love ourselves enough to leave when we’re getting so much less than what we deserve. We had to love ourselves enough to wait for the right relationship and to choose to love our lives even if the right relationship never comes along.

I’ve become a wide-eyed romantic, fully awake to the possibilities and no longer willing to live full-time in a fantasy because the reality is so terribly disappointing. It’s the most self-loving thing I’ve ever done. I don’t have to add a glow to a lackluster relationship anymore. Instead, I wake up every day and romanticize my life — and I don’t have to lie or pretend to do it.

—

This post was previously published on medium.com.

***

From The Good Men Project on Medium

What Does Being in Love and Loving Someone Really Mean?

My 9-Year-Old Accidentally Explained Why His Mom Divorced Me

The One Thing Men Want More Than Sex

The Internal Struggle Men Battle in Silence

***

Join The Good Men Project as a Premium Member today.

All Premium Members get to view The Good Men Project with NO ADS.

A $50 annual membership gives you an all access pass. You can be a part of every call, group, class and community.
A $25 annual membership gives you access to one class, one Social Interest group and our online communities.
A $12 annual membership gives you access to our Friday calls with the publisher, our online community.