Two Breakups and a Lesson on Self-Abandonment
On grief, growth, and the masks we wear in relationships until we finally take them off.
I’ve been through two breakups in the last two months. A friendship breakup and a romantic one. And it sucks.
I’m still actively processing the uncoupling of someone I was starting to see a life with. It was still early, but things were going well… until the masks started to crack.
His mask?
Built from the weight of patriarchy. The “dutiful partner” role that suppresses your needs to make others feel safe. The provider doing everything to make sure both his and his partner’s needs (and wants) are met.
My mask?
The “fun and peaceful” role. Shrinking and gaslighting myself into being more “digestible,” out of fear of being too much, while trying to decode unspoken needs.
Sounds like a mess, right? A recipe for disaster?
But when you’re both knee-deep in a cocktail of unhealed childhood trauma and self-abandonment, you convince yourself that chemistry, love, care, and attraction will be enough. You hold onto the potential. You dream of the future. You ignore the present.
Until one of you wakes up.
Until someone takes the mask off and sees what’s really going on.
The Fairy Tale We Were Sold About Romantic Relationships
We were all taught a lie.
Men were taught that emotions are the enemy. That logic is the only way to lead. That love means never “complaining” and finding solutions instead, working hard, and protecting.
Women were taught we are emotional, too emotional to be trusted, because that makes us irrational. And yet, we’re expected to manage the emotional labor for everyone around us, especially our partners. Be seen, not heard. Be available, but not too much. Be the source of peace while we sit in our own internal chaos.
And then you add trauma, neurodivergence, fluctuating hormones, and pressures of adulting?
Of course, things start to crack. Because both people are playing a role while trying to ignore what’s bubbling underneath.
Unless…
You do the work.
You unlearn.
You regulate.
You get quiet enough to hear your own voice through the noise.
And then, you talk.
You share what’s coming up.
You move past the fear of being raw and vulnerable.
You risk being left, because peace matters more than pretending. You allow the other person to meet you halfway.
Friendships for Black Women
But this isn’t just about romantic dynamics. The roles show up in friendships, too. Especially for Black women.
We’re often carrying just as much emotional labor in our friendships as we do in our partnerships.
We show up as the “strong one,” the “therapist,” the one who always checks in, always holds space, always listens. And sometimes we don’t even realize we’re doing it. We’ve been conditioned to be the safe place for everyone else, even when we’re running on empty.
In friendships, especially with other Black women, there’s an unspoken contract:
We’ll ride for each other, hold each other down, and protect each other like sisters.
But what happens when that emotional exchange starts to require your self-abandonment?
When one person is always regulating despite their own need for regulation?
When honesty feels like a risk and you find yourself tiptoeing around, sharing your truth in careful pieces?
It becomes harder to name. Harder to grieve.
We’ve been told friendship is supposed to last forever. And when it doesn’t, the grief is quieter, but just as deep.
Because friendship, especially between Black women, can feel sacred. Like a soul contract. A shared language of survival and joy. So when that bond breaks, it’s not “just a friendship breakup.” It’s the loss of emotional home.
In that friendship, I was also playing a role. The dependable one. The one who holds space, gives grace, explains herself clearly, and doesn’t ask for too much. The one who softens her truth to maintain the peace. Sound familiar?
Then This Happened to Me
What I was doing in my friendship mirrored my romantic life. Shrinking. Translating my needs. Prioritizing other people’s comfort over my truth.
So naturally, I started wondering…Am I the problem?
Am I the thing that needs to be fixed?
Managed?
Changed?
But once the dust settled, I realized I wasn’t the problem.
I was the lesson.
I was learning a lesson.
And I was the object through which a lesson was being taught.
Like Iyanla Vanzant (Tapping the Power Within) says:
“In your interactions with others, always ask yourself—
Am I teaching a lesson?
Am I learning a lesson?
Am I the object through which a lesson is being taught?”
In these past two months, I was all three. And the lessons showed up beyond my romantic and friendship relationships. They showed up in my relationships with work, community, and myself.
The Lessons I Was Teaching:
You cannot escape yourself. Until you confront what’s within you, it’ll keep showing up in the people you attract.
Emotions are data. You have to feel them. Otherwise, they get stored in your body and show up later as burnout, tension, sickness, or emotional acting out at the worst possible time.
Distractions delay healing. Being in the streets nonstop, hopping from connection to connection, overworking, validating your worth through how much you do, how good you look, or how much you give—it won’t erase your feelings. They will leak out elsewhere.
Your thoughts shape your reality. If you think a friendship isn’t safe, you’ll show up guarded, and the friendship will become unsafe. If you think you’re always doing more in a relationship, it will start to feel like a burden.
You have to voice your needs. Even the small ones. Especially the small ones. Don’t keep pushing through discomfort just because “it’s not that big of a deal.”
The Lessons I’m Learning:
Intellectualizing isn’t processing. Understanding why you feel the way you do without first sitting with the emotion and letting it flow through you will further disconnect you from your body and your needs. You have to feel to heal.
Listen to your intuition and your first thought. The moment something feels off or you feel like you have to shrink, withhold sharing certain information to protect the other person, code-switch, or walk on eggshells, it’s misaligned. Time won’t fix that unless behavior changes.
You can’t explain someone into change. You cannot force people to give beyond their capacity and ability just because you explain yourself well. They may not have the tools to meet you.
You’re not a container for everyone’s healing. That “if I just love them enough” mindset is a trauma response. You are not a Build-A-Bear workshop.
Silence is an answer. Stillness is a reset. Not everything needs to be fixed in the moment. Sometimes the clarity comes after you stop talking.
The Tools Being Used to Teach
These relationships… my ayahuasca ceremony…
my post-burnout self… this entire 14-month sabbatical…
They’ve all been vessels for the lessons.
It’s like the ayahuasca ceremony took away the last coping mechanisms. Ones I thought were necessary for my healing, but were really survival tools in disguise. I was forced to see them clearly, and I became a mirror for others to do the same. Hopefully, they choose to look too.
Letting Go Still Hurts
Even when you know it’s not aligned.
Even when you know you’re making space for something better.
It still hurts to let go of something that once felt safe and sacred.
It still stings to lose a relationship that held deep love, even if it wasn’t meant to last.
It hasn’t been that long and…
Some moments, I’m okay.
At other moments, a song or meme, or a memory, brings it all back.
And that’s grief.
Grief isn’t linear.
It comes in waves.
It flows through you… until one day, it doesn’t.
If You’re Going Through Relationship Transitions Too…
Let this be your reminder:
You are not too much.
You are not a problem to be managed.
You do owe it to yourself to go within and understand the role you played and what the transition is trying to show you
You are becoming.
You are returning.
You are creating space for relationships aligned with the next version of you. The version no longer living in survival mode.
And these people may come back. But only if it’s aligned.
And even when it’s hard, even when it hurts, this process is sacred.
You’re not alone.
Yoooo, I feel this post DEEPLY. I had a breakup this year that taught me many of these same things. And for sure it's still painful, even when it comes with such necessary lessons. Sending you big love, Sam! ❤️