Love-Drama

Hi everyone, I’d like to ask for your honest opinions. I’ve been with my boyfriend—my first long-term relationship—for almost two years now, and we’ve been living together. Before I met him, I’ll admit I had been in a few situationships like FWB, ONS, and some toxic relationships.
At the beginning of this relationship, I did something wrong: I secretly talked to a senior I used to have a fling with. More recently, I’ve also been secretly working a night job at a karaoke bar. I didn’t do anything inappropriate—I just wanted to earn extra money.
Lately, I keep wondering if I should let him go… because even though I love him, I still want to live my life, dress up, and do the things I enjoy. Since being with him, I’ve never really gotten to do that.
I’m 22, he’s 25. He lost both his parents when he was 19, and I lost my dad when I was 18. Sometimes I ask myself—am I still with him because I love him, or because I feel sorry for him? I want him in my life, but I also want to live freely. He often forbids me from doing things I like.
Right now, I study and work at the same time, while he only works. We share expenses, but I do most of the housework. I just want to know… am I a bad person for feeling like this? And am I with him out of love—or pity?
Hey you — come sit down for a minute. ðŊ️
Let’s breathe before we talk, because this one… this question isn’t simple.
It’s raw, tangled, full of contradictions. You love him. But you also feel suffocated.
You want to do right by him. But you also want to live.
And in that middle space — between guilt and desire, between “I want to stay” and “I want to run” — that’s where you’re standing right now.
So let’s talk through this carefully, like friends do — not to judge, not to label you “good” or “bad,” but to help you finally understand what’s really going on inside you. ❤️
Let’s start here — the most important truth of all.
Feeling like your heart is split between love and freedom doesn’t make you cruel. It makes you human.
Because love — real love — doesn’t erase your individuality.
It’s not supposed to cage you or silence your wants.
But when the relationship becomes something that constantly demands self-sacrifice, your soul starts quietly rebelling.
You’ve been living between two versions of yourself:
Neither version is wrong. They’re both you.
But when you try to keep both alive in a relationship that only accepts one side of you — you slowly start dying inside.
You said, “I still love him, but I also want to live my life.”
That single line carries the whole psychology of inner conflict.
In simple terms, part of you is emotionally bonded to him — the comfort, the routine, the shared space, the sense of belonging.
But another part of you — the deeper, freer, younger self — feels trapped.
This isn’t rare. Many people confuse emotional comfort with emotional connection.
Comfort says: “I feel safe here, even if I’m not happy.”
Connection says: “I feel seen here, and I can grow.”
You’ve been mistaking comfort for love.
And because both of you have experienced loss — him losing both parents, you losing your father — it deepened that emotional bond. You both found in each other a kind of “survival partnership.”
Two wounded hearts clinging together, trying to heal by not being alone.
That’s beautiful in the beginning. But if one person starts healing faster, or differently, the bond shifts.
You begin to crave growth, while he craves stability.
You start wanting freedom, while he wants to hold you tighter — afraid that freedom means leaving.
You said, “Sometimes I ask myself — am I still with him because I love him, or because I feel sorry for him?”
That’s a question most people never have the courage to ask — but it’s everything.
Love says: “I want to walk beside you.”
Pity says: “I can’t leave you behind.”
Love empowers. Pity protects.
Love sees the person as strong. Pity sees them as fragile.
And the more pity grows, the smaller love becomes.
Because pity doesn’t build connection — it builds guilt.
You’re scared that if you leave him, he’ll break.
You’re scared to become “the one who abandoned him” after he’s already lost so much.
But here’s the quiet truth: you’re not responsible for saving him from loneliness.
He’s an adult. And while it’s tragic that life hurt him early, it’s not your lifelong duty to be his emotional shield.
You can feel compassion without sacrificing your freedom.
You can care about his healing without destroying your own.
You said you share expenses, study and work, and still handle most of the housework.
You’re not living with a partner; you’re carrying the weight of a small household while trying to keep your sanity.
You’re exhausted — not because you’re lazy or confused — but because your emotional energy is split between loving him and suppressing yourself.
And that split is slowly burning you out.
You know it’s not right. You even said, “Since being with him, I’ve never really gotten to live the way I want.”
That’s not a small sentence. That’s your soul whispering: “I’m disappearing.”
When love starts demanding self-erasure, it stops being love and becomes containment.
And when you stay out of fear, guilt, or obligation, that’s not loyalty — that’s quiet suffering disguised as kindness.
Staying for someone else’s comfort while your own heart is starving is not noble. It’s slow emotional death.
You both carry grief — but grief doesn’t justify control.
You both lost someone — but loss doesn’t give one person the right to limit the other’s life.
He might say, “I just want to protect you.”
But sometimes, protection becomes possession.
Sometimes, “I care” really means “I’m afraid you’ll outgrow me.”
And here’s what’s heartbreaking but true:
If someone’s love for you depends on your obedience, that love isn’t healthy.
Because real love lets you evolve.
It doesn’t hand you a rulebook.
You said, “I didn’t do anything inappropriate — I just wanted to earn extra money.”
But underneath that is another message your heart is trying to send:
“I wanted something that was mine.”
Something that didn’t belong to “us.” Something you could control, choose, and live without him monitoring or judging.
That secret job was never about money — it was about freedom.
A small rebellion, maybe subconscious, against the feeling that every part of your life was being watched, shaped, or limited.
That tells me your relationship isn’t built on full trust — not just his, but yours too.
You can’t trust him with your truth, and he can’t trust you with your autonomy.
That’s not love. That’s survival.
And you’ve been in survival mode for a long time — ever since you learned that love can disappear.
So you try to hold on tightly — to him, to the idea of being “good,” to the illusion that this can still be fixed if you just sacrifice a little more.
But love that costs you your freedom will never bring peace.
You asked, “Am I a bad person for feeling like this?”
No. You’re a person who has reached her emotional limit.
Guilt keeps many people trapped in relationships long after love has left.
We tell ourselves:
“He’s been through so much.”
“He loves me more than anyone else could.”
“If I leave, I’ll destroy him.”
But guilt isn’t the same as goodness.
True goodness doesn’t come from staying unhappy — it comes from honesty.
If you stay out of guilt, you both lose:
Sometimes the kindest thing you can do for someone is to stop pretending you love them the same way you once did.
At 22, you’re supposed to explore — not settle into a version of yourself that already feels trapped.
You’re supposed to find out who you are before deciding who to spend your life with.
When love happens too early — before you’ve built a full sense of self — it feels intoxicating at first, but slowly becomes suffocating.
Because you start growing, and the relationship doesn’t.
You can love someone deeply, yet still outgrow the space you share.
And that’s what’s happening here.
You’re evolving — emotionally, mentally, spiritually.
But he’s holding on to the old version of you.
And you feel guilty for changing — even though change is the most natural part of being human.
Stop asking:
“Do I still love him?”
And instead ask:
“Can I still love myself while being with him?”
If the answer is “No,” then your heart already knows what to do.
You can’t pour love from a cup that’s cracked from exhaustion and resentment.
You can’t keep giving while feeling smaller every day.
Love that costs you your peace isn’t love — it’s emotional debt.
And the longer you carry it, the harder it becomes to recognize yourself in the mirror.
Leaving doesn’t mean you hate him.
It doesn’t erase the good memories or the compassion you have.
It just means you’ve decided that both of you deserve a life built on honesty, not obligation.
If you leave, you’re not abandoning him — you’re freeing him from a lie.
Because love that stays only out of pity slowly turns into quiet resentment.
You’ll start resenting his sadness, his need for comfort, his dependence.
And he’ll start sensing it — which will make him cling tighter.
It becomes an endless cycle of guilt and frustration.
You don’t owe anyone your life just because they’ve been hurt.
You can care deeply about someone and still choose to step away.
That’s what real maturity looks like.
You don’t have to pack your bags tonight.
You can start by reclaiming small parts of yourself first.
If he responds with anger, guilt-tripping, or control — that’s your confirmation.
He’s not protecting you. He’s protecting his control.
If he listens and reflects — maybe there’s still a small path to healing.
But most often, controlling dynamics don’t change easily.
So be prepared to walk your truth, even if he doesn’t join you.
You’ll cry — not because you’re weak, but because you’re brave enough to feel everything.
You’ll question yourself — “Did I do the right thing?”
You’ll replay the moments, the laughter, the nights you felt safe in his arms.
But with each week, the air will feel lighter.
You’ll start hearing your own thoughts again — not filtered through his expectations.
You’ll look at your reflection and see a girl who is becoming herself again.
And one morning, you’ll wake up, look at the sunlight on your wall, and whisper,
“I don’t regret loving him. I just regret forgetting myself for so long.”
That will be the start of your new story.
Love that survives doesn’t demand sacrifice — it invites growth.
It’s the kind of love where both people keep expanding, keep discovering, keep forgiving, and keep choosing each other — freely, not fearfully.
If one person’s freedom always threatens the other, that’s not love.
That’s dependency.
And you deserve better than dependency disguised as devotion.
You deserve a love that feels like home, not a cage with soft blankets.
You are not a bad person.
You are a human being trying to do right by everyone — except yourself.
You’ve spent too long trying to be gentle with someone who never learned to be gentle with your spirit.
But the world needs the version of you that’s alive — not the one who’s constantly apologizing for wanting more.
You’re only 22.
This is not the end of your love story — it’s just your first lesson in how to love without losing yourself.
So, if you decide to let him go, do it with grace.
Thank him — not out loud, maybe just in your heart — for teaching you what love is not.
Then go and find what love can be.
And when you do — when you’re with someone who lets you dress how you like, laugh how you like, and live how you like — you’ll realize something powerful:
You never had to choose between love and freedom.
The right love always gives you both. ð
#Love #Relationships #ToxicLove #StayingOutOfPity #FadingLove #EmotionalHonesty #LettingGo #LoveYourself #RelationshipAdvice #DramoCiety
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