I always thought I was the stronger one. The bullet proof one. The one who could be lit on fire without blinking. I always thought I saw the best in people… this was my super power, right? Before they even had a chance to defend themselves, I was doing it for them. I would justify their behaviors + even narrate a story around it that suited me so that I felt better about being the doormat. I took the “higher road,” the road that allowed others to continue treating me like trash because, I was the tough one, the more understanding one. I could take it. This is what I told myself. Why? It was easier.
It was easier than:
setting a boundary
cutting someone off
sharing my heart
accepting the truth
advocating for my needs
I never understood fully the part I played in some of my worst relationships. I loved being the hero, even though I never saved anyone. I loved being the fixer, even though I never fixed anyone. I loved being the angry, resentful, irritated, confused one… because letting go was too hard. I was willing to abandon myself at all costs.
I was so use to being in pain that I was afraid of life without it. I didn’t want to work to live free of the suffering, so I pushed myself to this threshold whenever I could. It was familiar, safe, it was home.
Today I know my threshold is still high. But I no longer need to reach it to feel alive. ❤️