We met on one of those calm evenings. I was out with some friends, laughing too loudly, basking in the joy of doing nothing (gossip), when I noticed him from across the space. You know those moments when your eyes meet someone else’s and you both hold the stare just a second longer than normal? That happened. I quickly looked away, but then I looked again stylishly. And he caught me. I knew I had invited him with my gaze before he ever approached.
He walked over, calm and confident, and started a conversation. I played it cool, but there was something about him the way he listened, the way he smiled that pulled me in. We didn’t talk for long though. I had to get back to my friends, so he asked for my contact. I was reluctant, but in my heart, I gladly gave it. When I returned to my circle, they teased me non-stop, and we all laughed about it. It was a cute beginning.
At first, it was the kind of romance I had daydreamed about. Texts that made me smile, long phone calls that stretched into the night, and sweet words that wrapped around me like a warm blanket. But slowly, the excitement turned into discomfort. And the shift wasn’t loud it was quiet, subtle, like a song playing in the background that you only notice when the lyrics start to hit too close to home.
The first time I felt the need to shrink myself was during a hangout with his friends. I remember voicing a harmless opinion just something small and the look he gave me made me freeze. His friends chuckled awkwardly, someone changed the subject, and I felt like I had just said something wrong even though I hadn’t. That night, he didn’t say much, but the next day he joked about me being “too forward.” I laughed along, but deep down, I noted it.
Over time, I started editing myself. I stopped being bubbly when we were around people he knew. I wore outfits that were “appropriate” for the type of woman he said he wanted toned-down colors, less skin, less flair. I watched my words, made sure I wasn’t “too opinionated,” and became careful not to draw too much attention to myself. I wasn’t doing it because he asked me directly but because I wanted his approval. I didn’t want to start any argument, so I became agreeable. In the name of love, I began to disappear.
It didn’t happen overnight, but the more I made myself smaller, the more I felt unseen. I started asking myself questions like, Is this really me? How did I get here? Why do I feel like I have to work so hard to be enough for someone?
One day, we were getting ready to attend a family event of his. I had picked out a mustard yellow dress I loved the color made me feel alive but he looked at it and said, “Don’t you think that’s a bit loud?” I smiled, went back into the room, and changed into something navy blue. But when I stood in front of the mirror, something cracked. I didn’t recognize myself anymore.
That night, I was quiet. Not out of submission, but because something in me had shifted.
It wasn’t a big breakup moment. We didn’t fight that day. But from that moment, I began to retreat not from him first, but from the version of me that needed to be approved of to feel worthy.
I started wearing my colors again, speaking up in conversations, and allowing myself to take up space even around him. And the more I became myself, the more uncomfortable he seemed. It was as though he had fallen in love with the version of me that fit his ideal, and now that I was showing up differently, the cracks were showing.
Eventually, we drifted apart. He never said, “You’ve changed,” but I could feel the distance growing. And honestly, I didn’t chase him. I was tired of apologizing for who I was.
That season taught me one of the most important lessons of my life: Any love that demands you to shrink is not love worth keeping. My confidence didn’t come back all at once, but bit by bit, I reclaimed myself.
Today, I no longer apologize for speaking my mind, for dressing in what makes me feel powerful, or for taking up space. I’ve learned that authenticity might not always make you liked but it will always bring you peace. And to me, that peace is priceless.
Images designed on Canva by me
Note: This is my personal story, written by me without the AI help.
