He Said He Loved Me—So Why Did I Feel So Small?

He Said He Loved Me—So Why Did I Feel So Small?

They always say love lifts you up. But I only ever felt like I was shrinking.

It started with small things. He’d tease me in front of his friends—jokes about how I couldn't cook, how I talked too much, or how I was “overly sensitive.” At first, I laughed. I told myself it was harmless, that it was just his way of being playful. But over time, those jokes felt less like play and more like knives that nicked away at my self-esteem.

His name was Ryan. We met at a friend's rooftop party in the middle of July. The city skyline glittered behind him like a promise. He was charming, confident, and funny in that easy way that draws people in. And when he looked at me, I felt seen. Chosen. Special.

"I’ve never met anyone like you," he told me after just a week. "You’re different. You’re real."

Those words settled into my bones like warmth on a winter day. I didn’t know it then, but they were the beginning of a slow unraveling.

In the early days, he showered me with attention. Good morning texts, late-night calls, surprise flowers delivered to my work. I remember thinking, Is this what love is supposed to feel like? I had never been adored like this before. It was intoxicating.

But the tide turned subtly.

He started pointing out things I should “work on.” My makeup was “a bit much.” I was “too emotional.” He preferred me in neutrals instead of bright colors. “You’re prettier when you’re not trying so hard,” he’d say. It sounded like a compliment, but it felt like a correction.

I began to shrink myself to fit into his version of what was acceptable. I stopped wearing red lipstick. I stopped speaking up when his friends talked over me. I started editing myself, not just around him, but everywhere.

And still, he told me he loved me.

But that love came with conditions—unspoken rules that I always seemed to break. If I brought up something that upset me, I was “too dramatic.” If I asked for more time together, I was “clingy.” If I cried, he’d sigh and say, “Here we go again.”

I began apologizing for everything. For having needs. For feeling too much. For existing in a way that wasn’t convenient for him.

One night, after a particularly cold dinner where he spent more time on his phone than talking to me, I asked him if everything was okay.

He rolled his eyes and said, “God, why are you always so needy?”

Something in me cracked.

That night, I lay in bed staring at the ceiling. I replayed every moment that led us here—the charm, the slow erosion, the way I had become a ghost of the woman I used to be.

Was this love?

Why did it feel so heavy? So hollow? So...lonely?

That’s when the truth landed, sharp and undeniable: Love should never make you feel small.

It should make you feel safe. Seen. Cherished.

Ryan didn’t love me—he loved the version of me he could control. The version that didn’t challenge him, that stayed quiet, that dimmed her light so his could shine brighter.

The next morning, I did something I hadn’t done in months. I wore my red lipstick. I looked at myself in the mirror and said out loud, “You are enough.”

Then I packed my things, left his apartment, and never looked back.

It wasn’t easy. The weeks that followed were filled with doubt, pain, and the slow process of rebuilding. But each day, I stood a little taller. Laughed a little louder. Felt a little more like myself.

I realized something powerful: Sometimes, the person you love most isn’t your soulmate—they’re your lesson.

Ryan taught me what love isn’t. And that’s a lesson I carry with me every single day.

Now, when I love, I do it with open eyes and a full heart. And I never, ever apologize for taking up space.


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💬 Final Thought:

If someone says they love you but leaves you feeling small, unheard, or not enough—it’s not your fault. It’s not love. Real love doesn't dim your light. It helps you shine.