BOUNDARIES / EMOTIONAL ABUSE

Letter 031

Some Things Shouldn’t Come With a Renewal Option.

I canceled you a long time ago.

Or at least, I thought I did.

I stopped answering. Stopped explaining. Stopped making myself available for a relationship that had become increasingly expensive to maintain.

I thought that was the end of our billing cycle.

Apparently, I should have read the cancellation policy.

Because while you were no longer in my life, the charges kept coming.

The guilt had automatic renewal.

The self-doubt came preinstalled.

And somehow, I'd agreed to a lifetime subscription to explaining myself to people who weren't even asking.

I don't remember accepting those terms.

But there I was.

Still paying.

Every time I apologized for something that wasn't my fault.

Every time I rehearsed a conversation before having it, anticipating an argument that hadn't started.

Every time someone took a little longer to respond and I immediately wondered what I'd done wrong.

Every time I mistook someone's bad mood for an invoice addressed to me.

You weren't even there anymore.

And somehow, I was still covering your expenses.

And then there were the times I'd cry when you finally picked up the phone.

Not because we'd had some beautiful conversation.

Not because you'd apologized.

Sometimes you hadn't even said much yet.

I was just so relieved you'd answered that I started crying.

Think about how sad that actually is.

I'd spent so much time wondering whether you'd pick up, whether you were ignoring me, whether I'd done something wrong, that hearing your voice felt like an enormous weight had been lifted.

And I called that happiness.

I mistook the absence of anxiety for the presence of love.

You didn't have to promise me anything.

You didn't even have to make things right.

You just had to answer the phone.

And there I was, crying with gratitude for something that should have been ordinary.

I was paying an emotional premium for the occasional privilege of feeling okay.

And somehow, I thought I was getting my money's worth.

That's the thing nobody tells you about leaving someone who made you question yourself.

The relationship can end long before the billing does.

You cancel the arguments.

The walking on eggshells.

The constant explanations.

The feeling that peace is something you have to earn by behaving correctly.

But the habits?

Those come with hidden fees.

I didn't realize how much of myself I'd put on a payment plan.

My confidence.

My ability to trust my own memory.

My comfort in saying no without attaching a three-paragraph explanation.

Even my happiness seemed to require authorization.

And the worst part?

You didn't have to send another bill.

I'd learned to charge myself.

I'd become remarkably efficient at it, actually.

I could turn a perfectly ordinary interaction into an overdue balance in under thirty seconds.

Someone sounded disappointed?

My responsibility.

Someone needed space?

Clearly, I'd done something wrong.

Someone misunderstood me?

Better explain myself until they were satisfied, even if it took all night.

I was running an entire customer service department for problems I hadn't created.

And the customer was never satisfied.

I used to think healing meant finally getting you to acknowledge what you'd done.

An apology.

An explanation.

Some kind of refund for all the years I'd spent making payments toward a future that never arrived.

But I'm starting to understand something.

I don't need you to approve the cancellation.

I don't need you to agree that the charges were unfair.

I don't need you to admit that the contract was one-sided.

And I certainly don't need to keep proving that I was entitled to leave.

I was.

That's enough.

So I've started reviewing the statements.

Not the ones from the bank.

The ones I've been making about myself.

I'm too sensitive.

Disputed.

Everything is probably my fault.

Unauthorized transaction.

I should have tried harder.

Already paid in full.

Maybe I deserved some of it.

Fraudulent charge.

And the biggest one?

If I could just make you understand, maybe I could finally move on.

Declined.

Because I don't want to spend the rest of my life making payments to someone who no longer has an account here.

I know some of these charges will take time to disappear.

Sometimes I'll still apologize too quickly.

Sometimes I'll still assume the worst.

Sometimes I'll catch myself preparing a defense when nobody has accused me of anything.

Old systems don't shut down overnight.

But now I recognize the notifications.

And I know I don't have to open every one.

I canceled the relationship.

Nobody told me I had to cancel the add-ons.

Well.

I'm telling myself now.

No extensions.

No complimentary trials.

No automatic renewals.

And absolutely no more paying interest on someone else's behavior.

Consider this my final notice.

I am no longer paying for something I never agreed to carry.

— Me