Oh, if I had a dollar for every time I’ve been asked that, I could’ve paid someone to pretend we had a loving relationship. 😏

Honestly? 32 years later, I’m asking myself the same damn question.

It wasn’t his bank balance (I worked just as hard, if not harder).
It wasn’t his bedroom prowess (let’s just say four minutes of duty and no encore).
And it most certainly wasn’t his dazzling good looks—unless beige was a kink I didn’t know I had.

So why?

Maybe I never really healed from the heartbreak before him—the one who did tick all the boxes, the one who made me laugh, feel seen, and feel alive.
Maybe I jumped in too soon, thinking love was a house I could renovate.
Maybe I was just so damn positive, so deeply invested in the idea that “things will get better,” that I forgot to ask: better for who?

I wanted to believe in hope. I wanted to believe in second chances. I wanted to believe that if I just loved harder, tried harder, worked harder—it would somehow click.

Spoiler alert: It never did.

But here’s what I’ve realized, and I say this for every woman (or man) out there who’s quietly whispered the same question in the dark:

You are not alone.
You are not stupid.
You are not weak.

You are human.

You believed in love.
You believed in the promise of change.
You believed in the “better version” of someone that only ever existed in your hopes, not in their behavior.

And you know what? That’s not something to be ashamed of—that’s something to be proud of. You had a big heart. You loved fully. You gave your all. The mistake wasn’t loving—it was staying long after the love had turned into labor.

So next time someone asks, “Why were you with him?”

I might just answer:
“Well, IKEA didn’t sell emotional red flags in flat-packs, or I’d have seen the warning signs in assembly.”

#LessonsInLove
#HealingWithHumor
#32YearsLaterAndFinallyLaughing
#NotYourTherapistButIDidLearnALot
#BlindHopeIsNotBlindForever