Sometime back in 2021
I was sitting in the living room of our new apartment, waiting for him to come home from work.
My mind had been made up for a week. And when my mind is made up, that’s it—it’s both my gift and my curse.
I heard the familiar beep of the SmartLock, followed by the sound of the door opening. He stepped inside, locking eyes with me as he walked in. Though I was calm and collected, he immediately sensed something was off.
“Hey, babe. Everything okay?” he asked, offering a worried smile.
“Nope,” I responded flatly.
He set his work bag on the floor and joined me on the sofa. “What’s going on?”
I stared at him for a moment before answering. His face was full of concern and confusion—a perfect reflection of our entire relationship. Forget being on different pages; we weren’t even in the same book.
I took a deep breath, exhaled, and said, “I’m leaving, Malcom.”
His brow furrowed. “Huh?”
My irritation bubbled up. The way this man consistently acted blindsided by my reactions to his behavior infuriated me.
“I’m leaving,” I repeated. “My flight’s booked for tomorrow, and my suitcases are packed. I’m going home.”
He looked stunned. “Cici…this is your home. We’re getting married. We—”
“Nope. And nope,” I cut him off.
I leaned back into the sofa, my voice steady and cool. “Home is where I feel secure, honored, valued, loved, and appreciated. That’s not here. I’ve been busting my ass trying to turn this apartment into a home, with nothing but bare-minimum effort from you. I don’t feel secure, honored, valued, loved, or appreciated with you. So no, this isn’t my home, and I’m definitely not marrying you.”
He shook his head, his confusion deepening. “Wait…is this about the conversation we had last week? I thought we came to an agreement. I said I was going to do better. You have to give people time to do better, Cici.”
“No, actually, I don’t,” I replied, rising from the sofa to grab my water bottle from the kitchen island. I took a sip, leaned against the counter, and faced him.
“That conversation last week? It was just a more intense version of the same conversation we had the month before. And the month before that. Nothing has changed, and nothing will, because this is who you are. So what exactly would I be waiting for?”
He opened his mouth to respond, but nothing came out.
Finally, he said, “Let’s just take a moment to calm down.”
I narrowed my eyes. “I am calm, and that’s part of the problem. I was calm the first time I brought this up—three weeks after you proposed, when I noticed your behavior toward me was starting to change. Less affection. Less effort. I asked you what was wrong, and you blamed work stress and your mom needing money. I understood and gave you extra support.”
I took another sip of water before continuing. “Then, after we signed the lease here, your ‘subtle’ change became blatant. You’d come home and head straight for your video games. You stopped cuddling me, stopped showing affection, stopped planning date nights. I brought it up again, calmly, and you had another excuse. This time, you said you were stressed about wanting to start your own business. So I helped you launch that business within three days. And what happened? You couldn’t handle it, and I had to pick up the slack. And still, your behavior toward me didn’t change—it got worse.”
“Cici,” he interrupted, embarrassment flashing in his eyes.
“Aht, aht, aht—I’m not done,” I snapped.
“Last week, I finally lost my shit because enough was enough. And for the first time, I saw something click in your head. It disgusted me because it showed me something crystal clear: You don’t respond to mature, respectful conversations. You only respond to chaos and yelling. And I am not about to marry a man who only understands chaos.”
I stepped closer, my voice unwavering. “You came into my life with a mask because you knew your true self couldn’t step to me. But once you thought you had me locked in, that mask started to peel off. And let me tell you something: I used to be the type of woman who would lower herself to meet you where you are. The woman who would bend over backward trying to fix you, save you, heal you. The woman who’d scream and beg just to be seen.
But I am not her anymore.”
His face crumpled. He hung his head, mumbling, “Damn…I feel like shit. I’m sorry. You’ve been a light in my life, and I’m fumbling it.”
I smirked. “You’re not fumbling anything—you already fumbled it. Past tense. You’re right about one thing, though: I am a light. And the moment it’s clear I’m in the presence of a man who doesn’t deserve me, he no longer gets access to me.”
I took one last sip of water and said the words that sealed our fate: “I’m done, Malcom. We’re done.”
The Power of Acceptance
That evening remains one of the proudest moments of my life. Not because it was easy, but because it was necessary.
There’s a dangerous misconception about healing—that once you’ve done the work, you’ll never encounter bullshit again. But that’s not true. People wear masks to get what they want. The difference is, when you’ve done the work, you can recognize the mask—and you don’t stick around once it slips.
Acceptance is powerful. It’s not just about embracing what’s for you; it’s about walking away from what isn’t.
I accepted that Malcom wasn’t ready to be a husband—he just wanted a wife.I accepted that he couldn’t meet my needs.I accepted that he saw me as a come-up, not a partner.
And because I accepted those truths, I was able to walk away.
Here’s the beautiful part of this story: a year later, I got engaged to my true love—the man who was for me all along. The man who doesn’t need a mask, because his authentic self is exactly what I prayed for. The man who meets my needs, honors my boundaries, and loves me with the kind of care and intention I once thought was impossible.
Walking away from what isn’t for you makes space for what is for you. And that’s the kind of love you deserve, girl. Healing doesn’t mean you’ll never face challenges. It means you’ll face them with clarity, strength, and the resolve to choose yourself—and eventually, the partner who chooses you just as fully.
I hope this story inspired you in some way. If nothing else, let it be food for thought. Finish your plate, so you can go be great. 😉
P.S I'm 38 now and am in a very happy, healthy relationship; however, I spent the majority of twenties in a few pretty toxic ones. If you want to read about my journey, you can click here.
Sometimes just knowing that another woman has been where you are and made it through can make all the difference in the world.
Much love,
