I’ve been digging through my old drafts in a desperate attempt to find something to post that isn’t about running (again). 😅
This was written back in 2013. I decided against publishing it at that time because the story was still raw. But it has been 12 years and I thought I'd share it now because I suppose everyone already made peace with that chapter. And maybe, hopefully, this post reaches a friend (or anyone) still trapped in a relationship that has long lost its respect. And that somehow, this would help them see their own worth. Yes, I'm not ashamed to admit this. But I promote breakups when respect is no longer served at the table.
A friend once asked me, "How did you cope with the heartbreak of a twelve-year relationship?"
I replied, "Silent quitting."
"What do you mean?"
"I taught my heart to move on while still having him around."
We often think heartbreak begins when a relationship ends. But more often than not, the ending begins long before that. It begins in the small moments of disrespect, emotional absence, lack of effort, being taken for granted, and when one stops being seen or valued.
And we often dismiss and brush these moments aside because they seem minor and harmless. These small wounds sting but don't cause excruciating pain, so they often go untreated. But what we don't notice is those cuts have a way of carving deeply over time. They accumulate quietly. And before we know it, the bleeding is already severe.
There are many reasons someone may stay in a toxic relationship. A love child, still hoping for a change, low self-esteem, fear of being alone, trauma bonding, financial instability, family and social pressure, and so on.
As for me, my ex and I have a love child. With an innocent child involved, it added layers of fear and guilt that made the exit feel almost impossible. So when I thought I've had enough but couldn't bring myself to walk away, I started detaching myself emotionally. Not out of spite but out of self preservation.
Silent quitting does not reveal itself in obvious ways. It shows up in subtleties. On the surface, you can have the same routine, same set up, and live the same normal lives. Your lips will have the same smile but it no longer reaches your eyes. Your indifference will be mistaken for yet another one of your mood swings. Your "okay" is no longer a support or a reassurance, but a "do what you want to do, I don't care anymore" in disguise. You simply resign to arguments not because things are okay but because you think it's no longer worth it. Your conversations don't stop but they are reduced to small talks because you try to avoid discussing and making future plans together.
You withdraw yourself inch by inch without the other knowing, especially when they’ve grown too comfortable thinking you’d stay, no matter how shitty they made you feel. You stop begging for love and start seeing your worth. You start rebuilding yourself in small, unseen ways. That daily walk in the park, that club/community you're part of, a trip to the beach, a new hobby, an alone time, skin care, that new hair style, a gym membership.
Yes, I did it all. I was quietly healing for months, probably a year or so. What many of us didn't know is that moving on doesn’t only start when you leave someone. It starts the moment you decide you deserve more.
So when the day came that I had mustered enough courage to quit completely, it did hurt. But I didn't fall apart. Yes, in the eyes of those outside looking in, I was the villain—the one who ended everything and walked away unscathed. But it didn't matter. Because in that moment, I stopped surviving and started living.
Sometimes, I think back to the person I was back then. The one who learned to let go quietly while pretending everything was fine. What she did was genuinely cruel and hurtful. Because to the one she left behind, it’s a blindside, a wound that felt sharper because it came without warning. Sure, it was cowardice, an act of weakness on her part. But if that weakness was simply trying to love herself in the only way she knew how, then I thank her without shame.
Because of her, I learned that love shouldn't feel like a battlefield you're trying endure. Because of her, I have learned how to choose a love that is quiet. The best kind of quiet. It is the quiet that is safe, kind, and peaceful.
And if you are wondering how is the child who almost got caught in the crossfire? He is now a fine, young gentleman who enjoys two sets of holiday traditions, celebrates two birthdays, and has two versions of family love. I would like to think it's better having two homes filled with peace than one house filled with tension. He doesn't have a broken family. It has just been reshaped into something that still holds love, just in two places instead of one.
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