When someone you love closes the door

“Losing people you love is one thing. It’s losing yourself. It’s a huge loss.” ~ Dona Goddard

We weren’t going to fall into something romantic. It began as a long audio note about friendship, collaboration, work, life, trauma and healing. We helped each other to solve the problem. They gave each other a pep talk before the difficult meeting. He liked to say I had a good instinct. I told him he had grit.

We shared a flashlight-like vulnerability in the dark. He told me about getting into the fight, going to prison, losing his job, because he couldn’t keep his mouth shut. I shared how I grew up screaming, blowing, silence at home, and how I was chasing the verification of relationships to feel seen. Something sparked somewhere there.

By early May, friendship had changed. There was a night when we sat together and talked about emotional drinking. We kissed. And we didn’t stop. I didn’t expect that, but I didn’t resist either. It felt natural, like picking up a conversation we hadn’t realised we had already begun.

But like many things built on strength, it became faster and more complicated.

He opened up, wanting to explore something sexually that I couldn’t. That may have been embarrassing for him, but that wasn’t my intention. I was simply obvious. I don’t feel safe there. He was hurt. I said I stepped into his vulnerability. And I didn’t respond completely. I’ve frozen. That’s what I do when I feel pressured or threatened. I don’t scream or assault. I’m quiet and retreat inwards. Try to understand what’s going on before responding.

Still, I thought we had moved past it. I gave him space during the trip and when we reconnected, he told me he was in love with me. That he accepted my situation. That it was worth it. He would be patient.

So I met him in the middle. I’m softened. I’ve opened a little more.

He was a recovering alcoholic. He had ruined two long-term relationships in the past, he told me. He was arrested multiple times, fired for an explosion and said he was trying to do better now. I believed in him. I saw how he loved his dog training client, how he was trying to build something on his own terms.

I shared my journey. This is how you asked other people’s arms to approve when you felt fired or not visible in marriage. How did I go to the SLAA and learn to sit with my own emotions rather than running from them. How did you start Geri-Gadgets, a company inspired by my mother’s care during your dementia journey? He understood the sadness of slowly losing his parents. His mother also suffered from dementia. We’ve tied up what it does to you – how it softens certain edges while shaving other edges.

We had history, shared values, and hard-earned wisdom. So I was so unprepared for how it ended.

It started with a question. After the meeting we were attending together, I asked him what to wear for dinner with my sister and brother-in-law. He responded by sending me a photo of a woman in a short leather outfit, over the stiletto boots on the knees and a dominatrix pose.

I stared at the image in confusion. Were you kidding? test? Excavation? Given my past, my abuse, trauma, and the very clear boundaries I’ve conveyed, I didn’t find it interesting. I felt fired. I was laughed at it. I commented on the female body. This hurts me because I didn’t know how to say it.

That sparked a chain reaction.

We were supposed to be working on something together – potential employment for his business – but the conversation was tense. I felt myself shut down. It took time to process it. I spoke, and spoke to break through the tension in an actual voice, but he didn’t answer. He refused to talk to me. Until he had already decided to do it.

By the time we finally spoke, it was over. He had already closed the door. The ending wasn’t a moment. It came in his silence. It came when vulnerabilities came upon a wall.

This kind of end causes old wounds. The kind that taught me to freeze when someone retracts love. The kind of thing that I over-function to gain safety.

I was a kid who was ignored after being attacked. My dad screamed and slapped my straps on my legs, buried my head in the newspaper, pretending I didn’t exist. These are what shape the nervous system. They are stories of us becoming adults, whether we want to or not.

In my past relationships, I followed them. I made an excuse. I was sure it was my fault. I think: If I’m kinder, I’m not more sensitive…sexy, smarter, cooler… maybe they’ll stay. But this time it’s not the case.

This time I was sitting in pain. I let me wash it. I did not quickly fix or fill it. I didn’t reach out to him. They did not ask for clarity or closure. I cried. I did a journal. I went to a meeting. I spoke to a friend I trust. I worked. I kept my boundaries unharmed.

Because this is what I’ve learned. I’m worth it calmly. I am worthless of communication that cannot be punished. It is worth it for those who don’t confuse strength with depth.

He said I pivoted. But what he saw as a contradiction was actually growth. I was honoring the boundaries. I wasn’t trying to hurt him – I was trying to protect myself. And yes, sometimes it looks messy. Sometimes healing doesn’t fit in a neat package with perfect communication and the right amount of eye contact. Sometimes it means making the best decisions in real time with the nervous system you have.

I put him in. I trusted him in my story, in my body, in my boundaries. I showed up with attention, effort and consistency. But I have no control over how someone will receive me. I can control how I react when they close the door.

And this time, I didn’t follow it. I let it close. It’s calm and painful, finally.

Losing him hurts. But losing yourself again will hurt even more.

If you open yourself to someone and they reject you, remember that it is not a reflection of your values. And sometimes, when someone leaves, if their stay means you abandon yourself, then that’s the best.