When a Relationship Ends the Way It Began

Pulp Fiction. Gone Girl. Lord of the Rings. The Great Gatsby.

These are a few stories that come full circle, with a beginning and ending that are similar.

An effective technique when telling a story is to end the plot similarly to the way it begins; this circular narrative usually can show how a character has profoundly changed throughout the story.

However, with humans, if a relationship ends the way it began, it highlights the opposite: that the main character has not changed in any meaningful way.

Our final ending arrived on a quiet afternoon.

It didn’t come with a loud bang, but with a thoughtless dismissiveness that had been brewing all week.

It arrived with hot and cold behavior, tenuous presence, and familiar avoidance.

A lack of transparency combined with gaslighting, a few carefully placed cruel words, avoidant discards, interspersed with intense and loving moments summed up the entirety of the relationship, which culminated in a moment of intimate connection that ended swiftly, with a quick departure and a loud silence- the very behaviors which always left me feeling as if I was a toy, an object, and an option– after over a decade in a serious, committed relationship.

It took that one afternoon of pain to remind me of a moment only twelve years prior, when everything began for the very first time.

A newly formed connection between two people growing deeply enamored with one another, spending emotionally connected time together, and talking every day for almost four months, resulted in the first passionate, transcendent consummation of an intense love affair.

It would be fair to say that the first afternoon was one of many amazing moments together that literally shattered everything I ever believed about sex and love.

I discovered true passionate worship, the kind only your body and soul could truly comprehend.

I surrendered, opened, and loved more than I ever have with another person.

After that first amazing afternoon was over, an avoidant disappearance ensued, followed by over twenty-four hours of silence, leaving me questioning what had happened and resulting in me spiraling within the darkness of my mind.

I had just given my body, my heart, and my soul for the first time to this person I loved so much, whom I believed loved me, too.

And I hadn’t heard a word since they left.

By late afternoon, over 24 hours later, I was trying to nurse my growing anxiety.

Did they make it home all right? Did something happen to them? Why hadn’t I heard anything? What had I done wrong?

Did they change their mind about us? How could they love me like that and then disappear like it was nothing?

Had I made a mistake? Was this really love?

Over the years together, this continued behavior would evolve into a repeated cycle of push and pull, leaving me dizzy and confused, and full of anguish every time it happened.

The first time wasn’t a mistake, but clearly began a pattern of behavior that left me destabilized, questioning my own self, and reaching out for validation after the first vulnerable moment that had taken our relationship to the next level.

With what I understand now of the ways this toxic behavior has pulverized me and damaged what I believed was an important relationship, I would have left at the first sign that this would be a ‘regular’ part of our relationship dynamic.

The fact that this cycle lasted years is a sign of a few important realizations.

There were plenty of moments that were amazing and didn’t end in an abrupt avoidant discard, with hours turning into nights and endless days.

Just enough time together that felt magical and unhurried to make me wonder why I was ever upset in the first place. What I didn’t realize was that it was just enough of the good moments to make me stay for all the shitty times that continued to repeatedly hurt me.

Intermittent reinforcement is a hell of a drug.

I worked my ass off (literally) to make sure that our time together was good, so it would never feel like I was too hard to spend time with, or too hard to love. Yet, there was a quiet anxiety that hummed inside me, leaving me wondering if we would last.

When would they leave me again? Was someone going to pull them away?

Every notification, text, or phone call had the potential to be the interruption that ended our limited time together without warning. I was often afraid that any kind of upset or disagreement would trigger the avoidant discard or disappearance.

Every goodbye felt like the last time we would see one another, and this was by design, which only further intensified our connection in the limited time together.

I believed I was responsible for fixing all the avoidance and mistreatment given to me by someone who claimed to love me.

I went to therapy to try to help fix myself and them, read books about attachment styles and avoidant behaviors, had intense and constant discussions and conversations, and tried to set boundaries and negotiate agreements to protect myself from repeated abandonment.

The work I did to try to keep this person from leaving in repeated cycles was so exhausting I developed illnesses I had never experienced before.

This resulted in toxic behavior of my own to cope, including passive-aggressive communication and constant anxiety about their whereabouts and the other people in their life that occupied their time.

Their lack of transparency, evasive answers, and strategic disappearances left me craving constant reassurance and even blowing up at times when the discard would arrive, which then turned into a fight about how I reacted to their abandonment.

I eventually started leaving first to avoid the discard I could almost always feel coming, or would break up at the first sign of one.

Their pattern of avoidant discards created an insecurity in me that never existed to begin with.

I learned that my resilience was both a strength and a weakness.

The intermittent reinforcement, coupled with the avoidance and gaslighting, kept me hooked in a never-ending push/pull cycle while I tried to fix everything I could.

I was addicted to getting this right and making sure we lasted, and tried to create something healthy out of a toxic dynamic.

I worked so hard for this relationship because I believed our love meant that every moment of pain was worth it and deserved to be fought for.

That we mattered.

Until that final moment when it happened again. On a random, ordinary afternoon, as if all the other discards before were acceptable.

Because I kept showing up anyway, hoping things would be different.

Once is a mistake. Twice is a choice. Any more than that is a pattern.

After the door closed and I lay on my bed alone, the familiar pain hit me on a level I had never experienced before.

How had this happened again? The lack of care and concern, cutting our afternoon time short without warning, and leaving so suddenly, breaking promises again.

Then came the silence.

I wondered if I really deserved to be abruptly left after being so vulnerable and intimate in sharing my whole body and soul? As if we meant nothing?

After all these years? The negotiations. The time. The feelings. The love. The hard work. The repeated break-ups over this very issue. The insanity of it all.

The realization came in that moment that they were never going to treat me any differently, and this would never be better for me, no matter how much I tried.

Chris Freyler

‘s article “5 Destructive Habits We Can’t Hide From,”
He suggests that when someone participates in toxic behavior, we give them a “three strikes and you’re out” option.

This suggestion allows for mistakes since we’re human, and if it repeats, it is our warning sign to address the harmful behavior.

Then, you can set a boundary that you won’t accept it again, without trying to fix the other person yourself.

Let them figure it out, and support them if they’re willing to make the effort not to hurt you again. And if they keep doing it, you know what to do next to respect yourself and refuse to participate in your own self-abandonment.

This is how you can remove yourself from toxic behavioral patterns by not allowing them to continue to have access to hurt you in the same way.

This isn’t easy to do when you don’t want to give up on someone you love so much, on a relationship that matters.

This is where I messed up.

This pattern continued to exist because I continued to show up, tried to help them understand how they kept hurting me and how to help them change, and yet, after over a decade, the same hurtful behavior continued.

I would still be available and present for more pain, hoping things would be different each time.

I think some naive part of me deeply believed that they didn’t mean to treat me this way, that somehow it was out of their control, and that we could make this work together if I was understanding or patient enough.

I believed that our love was special, fated in the stars like Cassiopeia, and existed across multiple lifetimes. That we were worth it.

My hope for a lasting, romantic vision of love has been smashed to pieces by every repeated discard.

I’m not even sure what was real or true anymore.

That’s what happens when you abandon yourself for someone else so completely, while they continue to hurt you in the same cyclical way because they can.

What I do know is that if a relationship ends the same way it began, there was not an amazing transformation or change from the person you were sacrificing yourself for.

And knowing that I am the one who must change myself, letting go of a love and person I believed in with my whole heart, to respect and love myself is one of the most heartbreaking transformations to accept in this plotline of my life.

But maybe the circular narrative isn’t about any other character.

Maybe the change was all about my inner transformation all along.

And maybe that is what makes a truly great love story.