“After 30 years of tolerating emotional crumbs, I found someone who brought the whole damn bakery.” 🥐

“Wait… So You’re Telling Me Love Isn’t Supposed to Feel Like DIY Therapy?”
Or: After 3 Decades of Tolerating the Bare Minimum, I Found Out There’s an Upgrade Package

You know that moment when you meet someone and think:
“Wait… you can do all that and be kind to me?”
Yeah, me neither—until recently.

Because after 30 long years of being with someone who thought emotional intimacy was a TV channel and doing the bare minimum was a grand romantic gesture, I’ve come face-to-face with the most shocking concept of all:
Basic decency… with a beautiful smile attached.

Let’s review, shall we?
This lovely human is:

Good looking (I mean, come on, that’s a nice bonus)
Has a smile that lights up rooms (and doesn’t make me nervous about which version of him I’m going to get today)
Kind (not performative kindness, but the real stuff—gentle hands, gentle voice, soft eyes)
Loving (as in present, attentive, affectionate… not just “I bought you a car, what more do you want?”)
Hard working (as in he actually does stuff. Voluntarily. Without being begged or bribed.)
Tall (which is irrelevant… except, no, it’s not)
Great hair (because healing includes a little eye candy)
Understands me (like, actually listens to the words I say—wild, right?)
Loves my dog (and you know that’s a non-negotiable)
Soft, gentle, passionate (not cold, critical, or emotionally stingy)
And, just for fun, he hasn’t once asked me to transfer €10,000 to his bank account.

Ladies and gentlemen, we are no longer in Kansas.
We have officially entered the land of emotionally intelligent men—and I’m not going back.

Because let’s be honest, after three decades of:

Fixing everything myself
Paying for everything myself
Being gaslit into believing that asking for support was “too much”
And being told a birthday card was proof of growth…

This? This feels like a luxury resort I never knew I could check into.

It’s almost comical. I’m still adjusting.
Like a rescue dog flinching when someone goes to pet her, I keep looking around going:
“Wait, you did the thing you said you were going to do? Without a four-week reminder system?!”
And he just smiles. Because to him, that’s normal.

So here I am, adjusting to warmth, softness, and being adored—like a woman who’s been living on crackers and suddenly discovered a Michelin star menu.

Turns out love isn’t supposed to feel like a 30-year marathon in emotional rationing.
Turns out I’m not “too much”—I just spent too long with someone who could only handle the version of me that made his life easier.
And now, with this beautiful soul who sees me, hears me, and supports me without conditions, I finally get to exhale.

And laugh. A lot.
Because this chapter? Oh honey, it’s funny, healing, romantic, and long overdue.

Moral of the story?
Don’t let anyone convince you your standards are too high.
You were just shopping in the wrong aisle for 30 years.