Getting Rid of Dead Weight: Choosing Yourself Over Struggle Love

I’ve been in two serious romantic relationships in my life—one at 16 and one in my late 20s. Both taught me lessons that reshaped my entire understanding of love, healing, and self-worth.

The First Relationship: Losing Myself

My first relationship was with my high school sweetheart, and it was toxic, tumultuous, and abusive in every way. Before him, I was confident—waist snatched, hair long and flowing, skin glowing, self-esteem untouched. I knew who I was and what I wanted.

After that relationship, I didn’t recognize myself. The trauma changed my reflection, my mindset, and my spirit. I eventually escaped, but not without fear, nightmares, and a deep sense of being lost. One night he choked me so badly I genuinely thought I would die. When I survived, I ran. Literally.

Even with all of that, we were on and off throughout high school and college. That’s how strong trauma bonds can be. But eventually, I broke it for good.

The COVID Connection

Years later, during the height of the pandemic, I started talking to someone new. I wasn’t looking for anything serious—I was lonely, bored, and trying to survive the stillness of quarantine life.

We talked for three years. He always asked for a relationship, and I always said no. He was younger, he had no job, no license, no independence. I wasn’t asking for perfection—just some effort toward stability.

Eventually, I gave in. I convinced myself our friendship could carry us into something real. I wanted companionship. I wanted partnership. I wanted to feel chosen.

Two weeks after making it official, I moved him in. And he quit his job.

Carrying the Weight

From that moment on, I carried everything—financially, mentally, emotionally. Every bill, every drive, every chore. He moved from job to job, always blaming the employer, never himself. He said he was studying for his license, but he barely skimmed the material. He always had excuses. If we argued the night before his test, he would cancel because he believed I wouldn’t take him.

Meanwhile, I was supporting us alone while he sat at home playing video games.

Then infidelity entered our relationship—from both sides. I started it out of frustration and exhaustion. He finished it out of revenge. Neither of us was truly invested anymore. I felt more alone living with him than I do now living by myself.

The Breaking Point

I cared for him as a person, but deep down I knew he wasn’t my person. My person would never keep me in survival mode. My person would never require me to be the provider, the mother, the planner, the driver, the rock, and the emotional support system—while receiving nothing in return.

I wanted to be soft. I wanted to be feminine. I wanted to breathe.
But instead, I was constantly fighting to stay afloat.

And I refused to wake up five years later, still arguing about money, trust, and responsibility.
If I’m going to struggle, I will struggle alone.

A Message to Any Woman Reading This

If you’re in a relationship that drains you—emotionally, financially, mentally, spiritually—walk away. Value your worth. Do not look back.

Women are natural nurturers, but you are not obligated to raise a grown man. You deserve love that feels light, safe, and peaceful—not heavy, chaotic, and stressful.

Choosing me was the best decision I ever made. I am rediscovering my voice, rebuilding my confidence, reconnecting with myself, and finally recognizing the woman in the mirror again.

Love is a feeling, but it’s also a choice. And choosing yourself is a choice you will never regret.

A Stronger Closing: My Final Word

Walking away wasn't just the end of a relationship—it was the beginning of my rebirth. I learned that peace is priceless, loneliness is temporary, and self-love is transformational. I stopped settling for bare minimum effort, stopped carrying people who refused to carry themselves, and stopped apologizing for choosing me.

If you’ve been waiting for a sign, this is it:
You deserve a love that lifts you, not one you have to drag.
Letting go is not failure—letting go is freedom. And on the other side of that freedom is the version of yourself you’ve been missing.