The exit wound that didn’t bleed..

Bending Wasn’t Loving
by MissT

Intro:
There comes a time in every woman’s story when she stops bending—and starts standing. This is mine. If you’ve ever lost yourself trying to hold someone else together, pull up a chair. Let me show you what freedom sounds like.

Bending Wasn’t Loving

There was a time I bent so far to keep the peace, I forgot what standing straight felt like.

I twisted myself into shapes just to keep a man comfortable. I made myself smaller, quieter, softer. I dimmed my light when his shadows got too loud. I called it love—but really, it was survival dressed up as sacrifice.

He didn’t want a partner. He wanted a caretaker. Someone to carry the emotional weight he refused to hold. And I did. Not because I was weak—but because I was strong enough to carry us both – and  believe in his potential more than he believed in himself.

He never really took care of himself—his body, his mind, or the space we lived in. Days would go by without him washing, and the house became a reflection of how far he’d let himself go. I tried to help, to encourage, to lift him up. But everything became an excuse, often blamed on his disabilities. And while I understood that pain—I really did—it didn’t make it easier to live inside the weight of it every day. I carried more than my share, hoping love could fix what only personal responsibility ever could.

His negativity brought me down every single day. The atmosphere in that house was heavy—like walking through fog you didn’t ask for. His moods were unpredictable, his behaviour spiralling. And while I was bending to hold everything together, the debt was quietly piling up behind me. Not from bills or basics—but from gambling. His risks, his choices, his shame—yet somehow, I was the one carrying the burden. Emotionally. Financially. And silently.

But when I finally asked for space—he showed up anyway.
Not to apologise. Not to reflect.
Just to prove, yet again, that my boundaries were optional if they didn’t serve his comfort.

And that? That was the final page in his chapter.

Because here’s what I know now:
Bending isn’t loving. Bending is how you break.

And I? I’m done breaking for boys who can’t carry their own weight.

I’m not sad.
I’m not bitter.
I am free.

And baby—when a woman like me gets free?
She doesn’t look back. She writes about it.

With wit. With truth. With sass.
And just enough lipstick to remind him what he lost.

Outro:
No more shape-shifting to keep anyone else whole. This is me—unbent, unbothered, and unapologetically MissT.
(And no, I haven’t disappeared up my own arse. I’m just having a well-earned moment. Lol!) X

Disclaimer:
This blog reflects my personal experiences, thoughts, and emotions. Names and identifying details have been changed or omitted to protect privacy. My intention is to share my truth and healing journey—not to harm, accuse, or defame anyone.