I Moved for Love. Then I Had to Learn to Love Myself Again.

There’s something deeply brave, almost sacred, about leaving your entire world behind for love. You carry hope in your suitcase, sacrifice in your silence, and a version of yourself you believe will be enough. That’s what I did.

I moved for love. But I didn’t know I’d slowly lose myself in the process.

In the beginning, it felt like everything I had dreamed of. He was affectionate, attentive, and full of promises. He said all the right things, things I didn’t even know I longed to hear. The messages, the gifts, and the sudden “I can’t live without you” energy were overwhelming in the most intoxicating way.

But slowly, that intensity turned into something else.

At first, it was the small things. A comment about what I was wearing. A disapproving look if I laughed too loudly in public. A passive-aggressive tone when I said I missed home. Subtle digs disguised as concern. Moments where I felt like I had to explain my emotions, then apologize for them.

The shift was quiet but constant.

Soon, every part of my life was being monitored, questioned, or managed: what I ate, what I wore, how I spoke, how I felt, who I talked to, and even how I expressed affection to my own children.

If I cried, I was too sensitive. If I expressed joy, I was “too much.” If I was silent, I was cold. If I spoke up, I was ungrateful.

It became easier to walk on eggshells than to risk another argument that somehow ended with me apologizing for making him upset.

He had full control over the household, finances, and even the emotions I was allowed to have. I couldn’t even talk to family without feeling like I had to report the conversation. The loneliness didn’t come from being in a new country. It came from being in a relationship where I had to slowly erase myself to keep the peace.

I didn’t have the words for it at the time. I thought I just had to try harder. Be more patient. Pray more. Stay strong.

But then came the cheating, the lies, the shifting of blame, and the emotional manipulation that left me feeling like I was going crazy. Each time I confronted it, I was met with gaslighting:

"You’re imagining things.” "You’re crazy." "It’s your fault I even looked elsewhere."

Eventually, I realized I wasn’t in a relationship; I was in survival mode.

Leaving wasn’t a dramatic moment. It was a series of quiet awakenings.

• The day I looked in the mirror and didn’t recognize the woman staring back

• The night I cried while my children slept beside me, wondering what version of “love” they were learning

• The moment I realized I was modeling emotional suppression instead of emotional safety

So I started small:

• I reached out for help, first in whispers, then in confidence

• I journaled the truths I wasn’t allowed to speak out loud

• I found therapy. I found my voice. I found my God again.

• And eventually, I found my way out

Real love doesn’t make you shrink. It doesn’t isolate you, shame you, or require you to lose yourself to “keep” someone.

Sometimes, the bravest thing we can do is admit, “This love is hurting more than it’s healing.”

And sometimes, leaving isn’t about giving up. It’s about remembering who you were before you were asked to become someone else.

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If You’re in That Space…

If any part of this story feels familiar, if you're wondering if you're asking for too much or feeling like you're becoming less of yourself just to keep a relationship together, I see you.

I’ve been there.

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