How I Released What I Held On To
For years, I believed that if I gave enough, waited long enough, and bent myself into the right shape, my partner and I would eventually step into the future I dreamed of. In my imagination, we would heal, grow, and finally become the couple I had longed for.
I edited the story in my head a hundred times, rewriting scenes, smoothing over rough edges, and crafting an ending that would make all the sacrifices worthwhile. On paper, the script worked. In real life, it didn’t.
Loving the Character, Not the Person
Here’s the truth I didn’t want to face: I wasn’t loving the person in front of me. I was loving the character I had created for them — the one who lived in the margins of “if only” and “someday.”
I fell in love with potential, with possibility, with the story I wanted so badly to be true. And because of that, I ignored the reality unfolding in front of me: that I was alone in writing the story, while my partner refused to play their part.
Silence as a Lie
Adrienne Rich once wrote: “Lying is done with words, and also with silence.”
That line haunted me. Because I realized I had been lying to myself with silence.
I silenced my doubts. I silenced the voice that whispered, “This isn’t working.” I silenced the ache that told me love wasn’t supposed to feel this lonely.
Silence let me hold onto the fantasy. It gave me permission to stay, to pretend, to keep rewriting scenes in my head even as reality chipped away at me. But silence is its own form of self-betrayal. By refusing to speak my truth, I was choosing the lie.
The Breaking Point
The moment of clarity came slowly, then all at once. One day I saw it clearly: I was carrying the entire relationship.
I was writing both sides of the dialogue, directing every scene, and waiting for a breakthrough that never arrived. I was pouring my energy into a script that only I was reading.
And when that truth landed, it broke something inside me. At first, there was devastation. But beneath that grief, there was also relief. Relief in no longer having to hold up both ends. Relief in no longer having to silence myself just to keep the story alive.
Why This Site Exists
Heal Not Deal was born from that release. From the pain of laying down a story that had carried me for too long — but also from the hope that comes when you finally start to write a new one.
This space is my way of honoring what I learned:
That release is not failure, it is freedom.
That boundaries are not punishments, they are acts of love.
That rediscovery is not selfish, it is survival.
Healing is not about editing the old script to make it palatable. It’s about giving yourself permission to stop performing a role that was never meant for you.
A Closing Reflection
When the story you’ve been telling yourself no longer matches reality, you are allowed to put down the pen. You are allowed to stop writing it.
You deserve to create a story where you are not just a character in someone else’s script — you are the author. And in your hands, the ending is no longer about waiting or bending. It’s about truth, freedom, and rediscovery.
✨ Takeaway: Love should not require you to carry the whole narrative alone. When you stop writing a story that no longer fits, you make room for one that finally does.
