moral of the story.
my therapist tasked me with an assignment to write the timeline of our relationship including the breakup — and noting all the situations that made me believe something about myself: the good and the bad.
healing’s been complex for me but that’s what happen when you’re with someone like that for four years.
i’ve always had a fantastic memory but you gaslighted me so much towards the end that i had to go through my camera roll so i wouldn’t miss anything.
the most unsettling part of the photos is that the way you looked at me changed. your eyes darkened towards me. full of resentment and coldness.
october 2025, you said you wanted to design my ring together. i got excited. my heart glowed. i felt like one of my dreams had come true. i asked you if you had thought about how you would propose.
you said no.
i was confused and you were mad that i wanted clarity.
i asked you if you could talk about our future more. you said yes.
you didn’t.
you would end up hating me for wanting clarity.
on christmas eve, you said it was time to go ring shopping.
in may, you’d admit that you lied about that.
anytime i asked you for clarity, you resented it.
it made me believe i was crazy. i was in the wrong. i was too much for wanting to know where we stood.
for years you promised. for years you lied.
on april 9, 2026, my body was covered with hives for two weeks at that time.
i was weak, in pain.
i went to a specialist that day. you asked me how my appointment went.
i was scared to be honest because i knew if i told you the truth, you’d say i was “attacking” you.
the doc inferred that the hives were either from the stress of us or my tattoo removal. but that the tattoo removal would be unlikely.
end of january, you set a day to go ring shopping. we cancelled because that company only used real diamonds. i didn’t want that. you said you’d plan something else that same day.
the night prior, i asked what our plan was.
you didn’t plan anything.
i was sad. you blamed me:
“when was the last time you showed me love and affections?”
i filled our fridge the whole time we lived together. you didn’t pay me.
i planned a beautiful birthday celebration for you, just a week prior.
i helped your sister with branding her new company.
i helped your oldest sister with content ideas for her art instagram.
i made our house a home.
i cleaned up our pup’s puke every day before you came home
i planned your friends’ birthdays. i got to know them.
i texted your parents. happy birthday. happy anniversary. excited to see you soon.
i planned every single one of our trips. financed most.
i planned our dates.
i handled everything with our landlord.
i bought you clothes, expensive jewelry and watches.
i cuddled with you every night.
i fucked you often.
i listened.
i remembered everything about you. every food and drink order. every song. every snack. every laugh. every part.
i loved you deeply – even when the conversations always ended with you blaming me.
“i came close to being ready to marry you but then we fight and you ruin it.”
nothing i did made me enough for you.
of course my cells were inflamed. of course my doctors were concerned.
so on april 9, when you asked me. i got scared.
i knew you’d be bothered. and you were.
i told you and you got upset.
you were upset that my hives were tied to the cancelled ring shopping that you never apologized for.
i asked you if you could stay a night at your older sister’s place so that you could think about what you wanted with me, for us.
i was putting your laundry away at the moment anyways.
you were sitting on our bed, next to the dresser drawer my hands were in.
i said i could help you pack an overnight bag.
you turned cold and say “don’t touch my fucking stuff.”
and you shut the drawer on my hand.
a bruise and hive formed simultaneously.
i looked at you silently as my eyes welled up.
you started crying and freaking out.
you apologized over and over again. grabbed an ice pack and held it on my hand.
“i never want to hurt you” but you did.
repeatedly emotionally. cellular fully. once physically.
what do you do when the person who is hurting you is the person you want comfort from?
my therapist told me that even if there’s remorse after, it’s still abuse.
a month later, we ended. for good.
a few days after our lease ended, you were on the dating apps saying you were looking for a wife.
i threw a pillow at you.
your sister with the dreads called me abusive.
funny how you never told them about the drawer.
a few months after, you’re officially with a blond girl who had dreads, too.
i bet your sister loves that. and i bet you love not being with a brown girl who would tell you to ask your sister to take her dreads out – and how cultural appropriation is real.
when we met at 25, our relationship taught me hope in love. i believed i found my forever. that you found me. that i deserved to be happy.
when you kept me a secret from your family for almost a year, it made me believe i was a secret. that you were ashamed.
when you didn’t stand up for me when your friends made racist remarks, it taught me i was alone.
when we had sex, it made me believe i could feel safe intimately.
when you hurt my hand, it taught me i wasn’t safe at all.
when you blindsided me, it taught me i couldn’t trust you or myself because i loved you.
when your sisters asked if you wanted to store your expensive belongings at their place, it taught me that your family has hints of racism — and that you were painting me in a weird light. especially because i bought you most of those expensive belongings.
when you promised me you’d pay me a grand because of the groceries + you took all our furniture — and you never paid, it taught me i cannot trust a man financially.
when you shifted blame on me every disagreement, it made me feel crazy.
how could i love someone who was hellbent on hurting me? or if you didn’t mean to, so careless about my feelings?
when you introduced your new, white girlfriend to your family and our friends immediately, it taught me that some people cannot commit to the brown girl. it’s easier to date someone who looks like their family. some people aren’t strong enough to stand up to their friends or family when issues are present.
and sometimes, some people cannot stand to be alone.
i don’t know if you’ll ever learn to take any accountability.
i just know that you never took it with me.
and i may be starting over at 30.
and you may have stolen my chance to have my own children.
but at least i have myself.
at least i am safe.
and i will unlearn all the bullshit you put in my head for four years.
ashe has a song called ‘moral of the story’.
“some mistakes get made
that’s alright, that’s okay.
you can think that you’re in love,
when you’re really just in pain.
some mistakes get made
that’s alright, that’s okay.
in the end it’s better for me.
that’s the moral of the story.”
