Why This Blog?

I’m writing this blog under a false name because I’m afraid of him, of his anger. Afraid of his judgment. How should I refer to this person? My love? Love doesn’t yell at you for hours when your question doesn’t fit, when you didn’t press the record button on the camera, or when you don’t immediately affirm his words. Love doesn’t send you hours of hate messages because you didn’t reply right away. Love doesn’t win your trust only to later use it as proof that you’re a bad person. It doesn’t constantly criticize your appearance or make it clear how much better others before you were. Love doesn’t do that. And yet, I still can’t manage to let him go. Not yet.

(Out of respect for him and also out of fear, he too will receive a different name.)

In the last months of our relationship, whenever Lucas told me he loved me, I asked him why. He would hesitate, as if thinking, and then respond, “Because you can cook really well, because you’re sweet, because you have the best ass.” When he realized that didn’t convince me, he added that we liked the same things, experienced them similarly, and laughed at the same jokes. No one else would understand and share his so often cruel, dark humor. Yet most of the time, I was told I had no sense of humor and wasn’t funny. He claimed to never laugh with me and that there was no joy or fun with me. Time and again, I asked myself why he was even with me—other than the fact that after two years, we had become so dependent on each other that we were lost without the other.

Why did I want to be with someone who didn’t enjoy being with me? Who told me every few days that I was the worst thing that ever happened to him and that his life had been a nightmare ever since? Who claimed there was nothing he liked about me, yet still planned his life with me?

I went through hell and managed to separate from him—probably the hardest process of my life. After several attempts, I achieved physical separation, and only later could I cut off contact, which I couldn’t even imagine before. But the emotional and spiritual separation is the hardest part, and I haven’t yet managed that. I hope to achieve it during the year I’m writing this blog.

How did I manage to leave? By opening up to others for the first time in two years—despite all my fears. All that time, I had told no one what was happening at home. I was ashamed for losing myself in this relationship, for the fact that friends, who’d seen Lucas briefly, had already seen through him and issued warnings that I chose to ignore. I wanted to prove them wrong and hold onto my belief in the “love of my life.” To be honest, no podcast or blog with advice on handling toxic relationships really helped me. So, I won’t be writing any kind of guide with steps to take. In the end, it was fear for my life—though it felt like there wasn’t much of it left—and the recurring panic attacks at the thought of a future together.

Speaking out. Even when you think you’ve driven everyone out of your life—there is always someone who will listen with kindness. These people bring patience and care. And I thank my friends who had so much patience with me, until I was ready to say: I don’t want to live like this anymore.

Of course, after the breakup, I read a lot about narcissism, but it often seemed too black-and-white to me: the narcissist and the victim. I’ve never seen myself as a victim and refuse to do so. Even if some would call my reactions “reactive abuse,” I’m not a victim. I played my part. This blog isn’t about just pointing out the bad things I experienced with him—although I’m sure I’ll share some of that.

This isn’t your typical food and travel blog. I’m a nomad looking for my place in life—a place that might feel like home. But I haven’t found it yet, so I keep searching. It’s the story of a traveler trying to return to what she believed she was before the relationship—and hopefully grow beyond that—a strong, independent, centered, and happy woman. That is the goal. Maybe I was never really most of those things, otherwise, I wouldn’t have let a man I met on an island take them from me.

I travel to be free, to live, to strengthen myself through what I’ve experienced, and to rediscover who I am and what kind of life I want to lead—without him.

It’s entirely possible that no one will read my blog. During my time with him, I not only withdrew from friends but also from all social media. I wanted to erase myself. Honestly, I don’t miss it. Moreover, despite his voice in my head that drives me like a whip, I stand by the fact that I don’t like promoting myself, and I’m not good at selling myself either. That’s just not me—even though that’s often what it takes today to stand out. If no one reads my blog, it will simply remain my online diary of my recovery year. From my 41st to my 42nd birthday.

But if someone does read it, I hope my story and journey help you leave, even if you think you can’t. I also thought it was impossible—too much seemed at stake, too much I believed I owed him. Or maybe you’ve already left and can join me in discovering a new life, even if at the moment it seems that there is no life without him or her.

If I can inspire even one person, it was worth it. Speaking with people who had gone through and overcome similar relationships helped me a lot. At first, I couldn’t imagine ever being strong or happy without him. How could that be possible? How did others manage, especially if they had been in such relationships longer or had experienced worse? But they did it—and they lived and loved again.

Maybe it’s a story you’ve never experienced, and I hope you never will. Then, perhaps you’ll find a tip or two for a place or restaurant to use on your next trip.

Whatever it is, thank you for taking the time to join me on my journey.