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Friday, August 7, 2026

When Everything Becomes About Them

When Everything Becomes About Them

There are some people who leave you feeling lighter after every conversation.

And then there are people who leave you questioning your own reality.

Whether it's a friendship, a romantic relationship, a family member, or a boss, living with someone who consistently displays narcissistic behaviors can be emotionally exhausting.

At first, they can be incredibly charming.
Confident.  Funny.  Charismatic.  They know exactly what to say to draw people in.

But over time, something begins to change.

You notice that your feelings rarely seem to matter. Your accomplishments become their accomplishments. Your struggles somehow become an inconvenience to them. Your opinions are dismissed unless they agree with them.

One of the hardest things to understand is that every conflict somehow becomes your fault.

You tell them something they said hurt your feelings.  Instead of apologizing, they explain why you shouldn't feel that way.  Or they tell you you're too sensitive.  Or they remind you of something you did six months ago.

Before you know it, you're apologizing for bringing up the issue in the first place.

Some people call this gaslighting.

Whatever label you use, the result is often the same.

You begin questioning yourself. You replay conversations in your head. You wonder if you're overreacting. You start believing your feelings need permission before they can exist.

Another painful pattern is that they often focus on your reaction while ignoring what caused it.

They'll remember the moment you raised your voice. But they won't acknowledge the weeks or months of disrespect that led to your frustration.

They'll call you emotional. But not ask why you became emotional.

They'll paint themselves as the victim while leaving out the parts of the story where their own words or actions contributed to the situation.

And that's incredibly confusing for the person on the receiving end.

Because you're not asking for perfection. You're asking for accountability.

Relationships of any kind require two people who are willing to reflect on themselves.

To admit mistakes. To apologize. To grow.

When one person refuses to acknowledge their own role in conflict, the relationship slowly becomes one-sided.

You find yourself carrying the emotional weight for both people.

Eventually, you become exhausted.  Not because you don't care.  But because you're the only one trying.

I've learned that one of the healthiest questions you can ask yourself isn't:

"How do I make them understand me?"

It's:

"Do they genuinely want to understand me?"

There's a difference.

You cannot force someone to take accountability.  You cannot love someone into changing.  You cannot communicate enough for two people.

The healthiest relationships—whether they're with a partner, a friend, a family member, or a coworker—are built on mutual respect.  Mutual accountability.  Mutual empathy.

Because relationships aren't meant to be competitions about who's right.  They're meant to be partnerships where both people care enough to ask one simple question:

"How did my actions affect you?"

If that question is never asked...

The relationship slowly stops feeling like love, friendship, or teamwork.

It starts feeling like survival.

And no relationship should leave you constantly questioning your worth, your memory, or your voice.

Healthy relationships don't require you to become smaller so someone else can feel bigger.

They make room for both people to be seen, heard, and respected.

Until We Speak Again, 
A Neglected Soul

If my writing has encouraged you, helped you feel less alone, or simply brightened your day, please consider supporting my work by clicking on the "Buy Me A Coffee" link, located on the right hand side of my page. Thank you.

Leave a comment below with your thoughts. Have you encountered someone with narcissistic behavior? A co-worker? A spouse? How did you handle it? Let's talk!

Monday, August 3, 2026

When Home Doesn't Feel Like Home

When Home Doesn't Feel Like Home

There is a strange kind of loneliness that happens when you're not actually alone.

It's being in your own house and still feeling unwanted.

It's sharing a bed—or a home—with someone you love, while feeling like your presence doesn't really matter to them.

It's becoming quiet because every time you open your mouth, you already know you're probably going to be met with defensiveness, disrespect, or an argument.

And eventually, you stop talking.

Not because you don't have anything to say.
Because you've said it so many times that you're exhausted from repeating yourself.

I feel unheard in my own house.
I feel alone.
I feel unwanted.

I feel disrespected almost every time I try to bring something to my partner. I've been told, verbally, that my feelings don't matter.

And when the person you love tells you that they don't care how you feel, something inside you changes.

You start wondering...
Why am I still trying so hard to be heard by someone who has told me they don't care?

I've waited for apologies that never came.
I've waited for accountability.
I've waited for him to recognize what his words and actions have done to me.
I've waited for him to see the connection between the way he treats me and the way I've changed because of it.

Then there are the moments after we argue and separate ourselves. 

I'm in another room, trying to process everything that just happened, while I can hear him on the phone with his friends—laughing, joking, talking like everything is perfectly fine.

Sometimes he'll have music playing so loudly that it sounds like there's a party happening on the other side of the wall.

And I sit there listening.
Wondering how someone can seem so much happier when I'm not around.

Maybe that's not how he feels. Maybe he's just distracting himself. Maybe he's genuinely fine while I'm sitting there falling apart.

But that's what it feels like from my side of the wall.

It makes me wonder if my absence brings him more peace than my presence does.

And then, sometimes, after all the arguing and distance, he'll suddenly want sex.

That's another part I struggle to understand.

How can we go from barely speaking, hurting each other, and feeling completely disconnected...to suddenly being expected to be intimate?

I don't want to feel wanted only when my body is wanted.

I want to feel wanted when I'm sitting beside him.
I want to feel wanted when I'm talking.
I want to feel wanted when I'm upset.
I want to feel wanted when sex isn't involved at all.

I don't want to be someone he reaches for when he wants sex and retreats from when he wants peace.

I want to feel like my presence is something he actually wants.

And I'm starting to wonder if I'm going to be waiting forever.

I've had multiple people tell me to leave.
And maybe that's one of the hardest things to admit.

I love this man.

I have loved him enough to tolerate disrespect for more than a year while hoping things would change.

Hoping he'd finally understand. Hoping he'd look at me and realize that I'm not asking for perfection.

I'm asking for the basics.
Love.
Respect.
Honesty.
Accountability.
Effort.
Emotional safety.

That's it.

I don't need a perfect relationship.

I don't need someone who never makes mistakes. 

I need someone who cares when they hurt me.

Someone who can listen when I'm trying to explain why something hurt.

Someone who can say, "I was wrong. I'm sorry. I didn't mean to make you feel this way. Let's figure this out."

Someone who doesn't make me feel like having feelings is an inconvenience.

Instead, I've found myself distancing myself.
Staying in another room.
Keeping my thoughts to myself.

Living in an "out of sight, out of mind" relationship while still sharing the same house.

And that's a terrible way to live with someone you love.

At some point, I started realizing just how deeply this was affecting me. I became so overwhelmed and so emotionally broken by feeling unworthy of the love I was asking for that I became suicidal.

That's a sentence I never wanted to write.
But it's my truth.

And I'm not saying it to make anyone feel guilty.

I'm saying it because this is what feeling emotionally abandoned can do to someone.
When someone repeatedly feels unheard, unwanted, dismissed, and disrespected, eventually they may start believing that they are the problem.

Maybe I'm too sensitive.
Maybe I'm asking for too much.
Maybe I should stop bringing things up.
Maybe I should just accept things the way they are.
Maybe I'm not worth the kind of love I'm asking for.

But I am.

I am worth it.
And so are you.

I've spent so much time hoping that if I loved him enough, communicated enough, explained myself enough, or waited long enough, something would finally click.

Maybe he'd see me. Really see me.

See the woman sitting in another room because she doesn't feel safe enough to talk.
See the tears.
See the loneliness.
See the person who isn't asking him to be perfect—just asking him to care.

And now, because direct communication has become so difficult, I've found myself using social media and text messages as some of the last ways I know how to communicate what I'm feeling.

Maybe he'll read my words differently than he hears them.
Maybe he'll finally understand.
Maybe he'll finally see what I've been trying to say all along.

Or maybe he won't.

And that's the part I'm struggling with.

Because how long can you keep explaining your pain to someone who doesn't seem willing to understand it?
How long can you wait for an apology?
How long can you love someone while slowly losing yourself trying to make the relationship work?

I don't have all the answers.

I'm still here.
I'm still hurting.
I'm still trying to figure out what comes next.

But I'm beginning to understand something:
Love isn't supposed to require me to abandon myself just to keep it.

I shouldn't have to become silent to keep the peace.
I shouldn't have to hide in another room to feel comfortable in my own home.
I shouldn't have to beg to be heard.
I shouldn't have to prove that my feelings matter.

And I shouldn't have to become someone else just to receive the simple love I've been asking for.

Maybe love isn't always enough.

Maybe sometimes you can love someone with your entire soul and still recognize that the way you're being treated is hurting you.

Maybe sometimes the hardest thing isn't leaving someone you don't love anymore.

Maybe it's figuring out what to do when you still love them—but you don't love who you are becoming beside them.

Until We Speak Again,
A Tired Soul

If my writing has encouraged you, helped you feel less alone, or simply brightened your day, please consider supporting my work by clicking on the "Buy Me A Coffee" link, located on the right hand side of my page. Thank you.

Leave a comments with your thoughts. Have you feel misunderstood in your own home? Cried yourself to sleep next to the one you love? Is love enough to save a relationship? Let's talk!

Sunday, August 2, 2026

The Apology That Never Comes

The Apology That Never Comes

Have you ever waited for an apology that you knew you deserved?

Not because you wanted to win an argument.
Not because you wanted someone to admit they were wrong just so you could say, "I told you so."

You wanted an apology because someone hurt you.

You wanted them to recognize it.
You wanted them to look at you and say, "I understand what I did, and I'm sorry I hurt you."

But what happens when that apology never comes?

What happens when, instead of apologizing, they start digging through the past looking for something you've done wrong?

Suddenly, the conversation isn't about what they did anymore.

Now you're defending yourself. Your mistakes are being brought up. Old arguments are being resurrected. Things you've already apologized for are being used as ammunition.

And somehow, the person who hurt you has managed to turn themselves into the victim.

I've learned that sometimes people don't apologize because they don't believe they did anything wrong. Sometimes they know they were wrong, but their pride won't allow them to admit it. Sometimes they give you a technical acknowledgment instead.

"You were right. I was wrong. It won't happen again."

But somehow, that still doesn't feel like an apology.

Maybe because an apology isn't just admitting who was right and who was wrong.
An apology is recognizing the hurt you caused.

There's a difference between:

"You were right and I was wrong."
and
"I was wrong for the way I treated you. I understand that my words and actions hurt you, and I'm genuinely sorry."

One acknowledges the argument. The other acknowledges the person.

And sometimes, you can wait a very long time for the second one.

You might even start questioning yourself.
Am I asking for too much?
Should I just let it go?
Maybe I'm being stubborn.
Maybe I should apologize first just to make peace.

But there's something I've had to remind myself:

Wanting an apology doesn't make you petty.

Sometimes you aren't asking for an apology because you need to hear the word sorry.
You're asking because you need to know that the person who hurt you sees what they did.

You need accountability.
You need acknowledgment.
You need to know that your pain mattered.

And if you're constantly receiving less than you deserve, eventually you have to stop asking yourself how to get someone to give you more.

You have to ask yourself:
How long am I willing to accept less?

Because you can't force someone to feel remorse. You can't force someone to understand your pain. You can't force someone to take accountability. And you certainly can't force someone to apologize sincerely.

At some point, you have to stop waiting for the apology and start deciding what you are going to do with the hurt that remains.

Maybe that means setting a boundary.
Maybe it means having one final conversation.
Maybe it means stepping back.
Maybe it means reevaluating the relationship entirely.

Whatever you decide, don't let someone else's refusal to apologize convince you that what happened wasn't important.

Your hurt doesn't become invalid because someone refuses to acknowledge causing it.
And you don't have to keep begging someone to give you the bare minimum of accountability.

Sometimes the apology never comes.

And as painful as that can be, healing may eventually mean accepting that you deserved an apology from someone who simply wasn't willing to give you one.

That's not the same as saying what they did was okay.

It's saying:
"I can acknowledge what happened even if you won't."

And maybe that's where you finally stop waiting.

Until We Speak Again, 
A Tired Soul


If my writing has encouraged you, helped you feel less alone, or simply brightened your day, please consider supporting my work by clicking on the "Buy Me A Coffee" link, located on the right hand side of my page. Thank you.

Leave a comment with your thoughts. Lack of accountability is a major problem in a lot of relationships. Do you agree or disagree? Let's talk!

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