Tired of dating men who feel like projects? One woman shares her raw journey of realizing the cost of fixing someone who never intended to stay. A must-read for anyone who's dated with hope—and ended up disappointed. Perhaps the scenario looks like this: When you begin the relationship, he’s a great guy. Then, as weeks or months go by, true colors start to show.
He used to call. Every day. Then the calls turned into texts. Then not every day. Then maybe once a week. I noticed, sure. But I didn’t say anything. I didn’t want to rock the boat.
Problem number one? I thought I was in the boat. The truth was, the boat only existed in my imagination.
The Illusion of a Relationship
Looking back, I see how easily I clung to the illusion. I told myself we were good. I told myself relationships change. I told myself I could adjust, as long as it meant keeping him.
But all I was really doing was adjusting myself into silence.
The Dangerous Comfort of Insecurity
Insecurity is a smooth talker. It convinced me to downplay my needs, to “understand” his red flags, and to stop asking questions. It told me, “Don’t be the difficult one.” So I didn’t speak up when things felt off.
And because of that, I was blind to the obvious signs:
*The lies
* The excuses
The Growing Emotional Distance
It was like I was floating downstream in a comfy little boat of denial while the real relationship—if you could call it that—was falling apart.
The Fixing Trap
I admit it—I tried to fix him.
I thought that if I showed patience, if I adjusted my boundaries just enough, if I coached him into being more attentive, more respectful, more emotionally available… maybe I’d finally get the love I wanted.
And it worked—briefly.
He stopped showing up late. He started listening more. I thought, “Wow, we’re evolving!”
But really? He was evolving for someone else.
He left. Then he married someone else.
Out of nowhere, he ended things. Just like that. I was devastated.
A few months later, I heard he’d met someone else. They got married.
In under five months.
I couldn’t believe it. Here I was, emotionally invested, teaching him how to treat someone right… and she got the finished product.
The Bitterness of Watching Someone Else Reap What You Planted
The part that stung most wasn’t just the breakup. It was the replacement. The ease with which he seemed to love her. The realization that the effort I put in and the sacrifices I made all went to benefit someone else.
She never had to coach him.
She never had to wait around.
She never had to shrink herself to make him feel bigger.
She met a man who already *knew* how to show up. And I was the one who taught him.
The Healing Realization: I Am Not a Life Coach
Eventually, after the emotional beastings settled, I saw the truth:
I am not a therapist. I am not a coach. I am not a rescue mission.
And the next time I feel tempted to play fixer-upper, I’m going to run.
From the broken.
From the freshly separated.
From the sad-eyed philosopher brooding in the corner of the party.
If I find myself starting a sentence with,
“Have you ever considered…”
“You should try reading…”
“Let me help you…”
I will stop. I will excuse myself. I will go get a drink and rethink my life.
Fixing Myself, Not Someone Else
This isn’t bitterness. It’s clarity.
I’m done seeing potential as a dating qualification. I want presence, not potential. I want connection, not consultation.
And if that means being single a little longer, so be it. I’d rather be alone than with someone I have to train to treat me right.
If and when I start dating again, I’m going to show up as a
whole person. And I’ll be looking for someone who’s done the same. No more projects. No more pretending. Just two people, real and ready.
Wish me luck. Nah, scratch that.
Wish me wisdom.
And if you have advice for me?
Comments
Post a Comment
Thank you for your comments; your opinion counts.