"I Loved Him More Than Myself — But He Only Loved My Effort, Not Me"

I gave him everything — my time, my love, my loyalty — and in return, he gave me silence. This is my real story of how I mistook emotional dependency for love and how I finally found peace within myself.

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Love is supposed to feel like home — warm, safe, and fulfilling. But with him, it felt like walking barefoot on glass, every step cutting deeper, and still convincing myself that this pain was love.

We met online. It started as small talk — casual, friendly, harmless. But over time, our conversations grew into midnight confessions, emotional support, and daily check-ins. He said all the right things: “You’re different,” “I’ve never opened up to anyone like this,” “You mean so much to me.” And I believed him.

He made me feel like I mattered.

Slowly, I began investing more and more into him. I was always available — emotionally, mentally, even financially when needed. I was his cheerleader, therapist, and companion. I ignored red flags: the delayed replies, the sudden mood changes, the way he disappeared for days and came back like nothing happened.

Whenever he needed someone, I was there — even if I was falling apart myself.

But he wasn’t there for me. Not really. He never asked how my day was. He never remembered the little things I told him. My birthday came and went without a text. And still, I made excuses: “He’s busy,” “He’s going through something,” “He cares, but in his own way.”

Then one day, I saw a post on his profile — with another girl. “My peace,” he wrote. My heart sank. I wasn’t angry at her. I was broken because I realized I was never “his peace.” I was his backup. His emotional safety net. A convenience.

That night, I didn’t sleep. I just lay there, staring at my ceiling, letting the weight of everything crush me. All the moments I spent crying for him, all the words I typed and deleted, all the love I gave without limits — it was all real for me, but for him, it was just... useful.

I was never loved. I was just used.

I stopped messaging him. He didn’t even notice. Days turned into weeks, and silence became my closure. No dramatic goodbye. No explanation. Just a slow realization that I meant nothing to someone who meant everything to me.

I cried. Of course I did. Letting go of a fantasy hurts more than letting go of a person. I had built a whole life in my head with someone who didn’t even see me clearly. But slowly, the tears dried. The pain stayed, but it became quieter. Less sharp.

And then... something changed.

One morning, I looked in the mirror and didn’t see a broken girl. I saw someone who loved deeply, gave selflessly, and believed fearlessly. My mistake wasn’t loving him — it was forgetting to love myself in the process.

Today, I’m healing. I’m not fully okay, and that’s fine. But I’ve learned something powerful: Real love doesn't make you question your worth. It makes you feel seen, heard, and cherished. And until I find that kind of love — I’ll give it to myself.

If you’re reading this and it feels familiar, please remember: You’re not hard to love. You were just loving the wrong person.