No More Performing Strength Series - Part 2 | When Life Undid Me - and What I Did Next

I stayed up last night. I couldn't sleep. My mind kept circling the breakup — not the relationship itself, but how it ended. Or rather, how it flatlined.

No emotion. No real goodbye. Silence, like the last page of a book torn out before you could finish the sentence.

What hit me hardest wasn’t the loss of him — it was the realisation that I’m still hurting over how he treated me. How someone took my care like a free sample, not a sacred offering. I let my guard down and faced emotional absence in return.

I didn’t walk into this relationship naïve. I was cautious. Guarded. I’d already been through the kind of love that costs you your peace. I had finished with all that. I had no intention of starting again. But he asked me to reveal my true self, and in the end, I did.

That’s the part that stings.

He wanted my vulnerability. He pursued it. He encouraged it. But once I let go and leaned in, it was as if the game had ended. Like I was prey caught in a net. He left with deep feelings a considerable time before his physical departure. That kind of abandonment is harder to name and to grieve.

He promised he was the opposite of the last guy. The last guy resulted in a financial expense for me. This one? Emotionally. He boasted about how much better he was. Said he brought more to the table.

But when I looked around? The table was empty.

And somehow, it was me left apologising. Me adjusting. Me accommodating. Again.

I knew better. I knew my patterns. I was self-aware enough this time to spot when I was giving too much. But I did it anyway — hoping this time would be different.

I thought my independence was strength. I still do. But he used it as an excuse not to show up. Not to offer anything. Not even the basics: time, effort, presence. All I ever wanted were the little gestures — proof that I wasn’t the only one holding the thread between us.

Instead, I got words. Promises. Ego. He flaunted wealth and gave nothing. And when I called it out — when I said he was tight — he got offended. Not because it wasn’t true. Because I dared to say it out loud.

And that says everything.

The Lesson: Let Them

I’ve been reflecting on Mel Robbins’ idea from her book — the Let Them mindset.

Let them walk away.

Let them dismiss you.

Let them show you who they are.

Why? Because your power is in not chasing. Your healing is in observing without controlling. The moment someone chooses not to value you — let them. Don’t plead for respect. Don’t bargain for crumbs.

Let them be exactly who they are.

And then make a choice from there.

I've realised that the me who stayed too long, gave too much, and hoped too hard deserves peace now. She felt heartbreak and a strong need to show she deserved love that should have come easily.

What I’m Taking With Me

Life didn’t hit me with one big disaster.

It came in waves. Quiet ones. The kind that knock you over before you realise your feet weren’t steady.

Grief when my mum passed — but there was no space to feel it.

I wasn’t allowed to mourn. I was too busy avoiding drama from my siblings. They chose the funeral to air years of pettiness.

Then came the scam. A relative. That one still stings.

Imagine believing you’re safe, then getting hit hard by someone you trusted.

Next? An old flame. Older, yes. Wiser? Not even close.

He cost me in both emotional and financial ways. He called it self-prioritising. I called it a red flag on fire.

But I stayed too long. Again.

And most recently, the man who promised something new gave us the same story, in a different font.

Each time, I broke.

Each time, I patched myself up.

Called it strength. Called it reinvention. Called it Tuesday.

Truth is, I was surviving.

The Breakdown No One Saw Coming

I kept showing up. For my daughter. For work. For the version of me that looked “fine.”

But I wasn’t.

It took one GP phone call to crack me open.

I cried. Properly. The kind of tears I had been swallowing for years.

My daughter once told me she rarely sees me cry.

Not because I didn’t need to — but because I didn’t see the point.

What’s the point in crying when the next blow is already loading?

This time, I’m done reinventing.

Not done with growth.

Done with bleeding for it.

I’m not proving anything anymore.

I’m not armouring up again to survive the next hit.

This time?

I’m shifting for myself.

Softly. Slowly. With full permission to rest, reset, and raise the damn bar.

Let Them — and Let Me

Let them ghost. Let them go. Let them be who they are.

But also…

Let me grieve in a way that feels right for me.

Let me stop calling resilience what was actually exhaustion.

Let me feel joy again — even if it comes with shaky legs and suspicious side-eyes.

Let me finally be the one who stays. For me.

This isn’t a comeback.

It’s a reclamation.

And if anyone asks -

Tell them Maya said I’m busy.

Rebuilding. Recharging. And she refused to reply to nonsense.