The Day my Relationship ended - between Love and Fear

The Night I Realized: Tired of Holding On – Ready to Let Go

It was Wednesday, and we went dancing. And again, it didn't work between us. In that moment, I felt one thing above all: a deep exhaustion and hopelessness. A tiredness that had been living in me for a long time. I know this feeling of inner resistance while dancing with a partner well – from my own past, and even more so through my work as a coach, where I connect relationship dynamics with partner dance. In our relationship, I felt it again and again. This feeling of not really being seen and present with him while dancing. As if I were alone on the dance floor. He was there, but somehow miles away. And then came the criticism. He told me directly that I dance badly. He said that's why we can't dance together. Words that put all the blame on me. Deep down, I knew that wasn't true. But it hurt so much to hear it. It made me feel small and not good enough. And I just couldn't brush it off anymore as I did the last months. We kept landing at the same point, again and again. Like an endless loop. And for so long, I had understanding for it. I knew he was also not happy, at his limit. That he couldn't do more either, and that his words came from his own pain. I tried so many times to understand his side. But that day, I couldn't anymore. My tank was empty. The hurt of the last months was too big. I simply had no strength left to carry more.

In that moment, I felt how much I had made myself small again, how much I had adjusted myself, again and again. And then came the eye roll, while we were dancing. That hurt me. It felt like I didn't exist in that moment – not as a person next to him. Not as the woman who shares a bed with him. It sounds like such a small thing, but behind it was the pain I had carried for months – always searching for emotional closeness between us, and always ending up hurt and feeling alone instead. I wanted to be seen, heard and understood. I wanted my needs to matter as much as his. I wanted him to acknowledge that my love language is different from his. And then my wanting turned into fighting. 

There's a line from Dr. Sue Johnson: "Behind all the grief, partners are really only asking each other one thing: Can I count on you? Are you there for me?" And in the last months, I experienced too many times that the answer to that question was “No”. He was physically there, yes. But not emotionally. I hadn't felt emotionally connected and safe with him in a long time. And in that moment, my cup was full – full of repeated hurt and emotional disconnection. That's when I said: "No, this doesn't work anymore." And in that moment, I gave up inside.

I love dancing. For me, it's the most beautiful thing a couple can do together. I stand behind this with my work as a relationship coach. And in that moment, I felt so far away from everything I stand for. So far from connection. Did I really want to keep pushing this relationship and that feeling, again and again? No. It hurt my heart to dance with my partner, to be in a relationship with him, and at the same time feel this emotional disconnection between us.

The Silence After

We had a short break from dancing, and he came back to me. Honestly, I didn't want to dance with him anymore. The hurt was too big, and it couldn't be fixed anymore. But I didn't want to reject him in front of the others either. So I danced – but only the steps, no feeling, no joy. "Smile again," he said. "I don't have anything to smile about right now. I need more time after what just happened," I answered. I wanted a second dance, because I noticed I was building resentment now. I wanted to be the strong one again, the one who stays and doesn't pull away – unlike him, who had been pulling away for months, caught up in his own inner struggles. But the second dance never happened. He danced with a good friend, and we had agreed we'd dance again after that. In the meantime, another man asked me to dance, and it felt so good to dance with him. Even though I knew I had told my boyfriend the last dance was ours, I stayed with the other man. It felt so good to feel lightness and joy while dancing with a man, without this heaviness and constant criticism. I loved that a man was fully present with me while dancing, that he saw me, gave me his time and energy, was playful with me, and laughed when we made mistakes. 

In the car, on the way home, it was quiet. He tried to start a conversation, but I didn't want to. I had given up inside. While he was parking, I had this inner feeling: today, I'll be going home earlier. I had given up inside. Once we were in the apartment, I avoided him. I couldn't stand this emptiness and grief inside me anymore. I had given up inside. I sat on the couch, and he came to me: "What's going on here? You were quiet in the car, I tried to talk to you. And when we got through the door, you went straight to the bathroom." Yes, I did – because I didn't want to anymore. It was time for the breakup.

Between Fighting and Letting Go

We had conflicts for a long time, and I know my old pattern from past relationships: pulling back, looking for distraction, keeping it under the rug and avoiding hard conversations at all costs. But that pattern never helped any of my relationships – quite the opposite. Today I'm different, because I've worked on myself and learned from my past. I love harmony, but today I stand for real harmony – not just a smile on the outside while there's sadness underneath. Today, I face conflict on purpose. I want to talk about it and find a solution together. And that doesn't happen overnight, of course and I’m willing to work for a longer time. It takes time, understanding, and real teamwork. That's why communication matters so much to me. Not running away when things get uncomfortable, but staying, talking and figuring out together.

I fought for that. I tried so much to reach him. So much that I sacrificed myself in this relationship. I hoped that one day we would sit down together, work through everything, and find a way forward. That hope carried me for months. So often, I felt so alone with it, like I was the only one fighting for this relationship. I went against my own integrity, my own values.

And at some point, as the emotional distance grew, my own frustration grew too – so much that it hurt the relationship even more. Back then, I simply couldn't let go. I sacrificed myself, didn't respect my own boundaries – and also stopped respecting his, too. It was the dynamic of two people who loved each other and were stuck. But on that day, I had to be completely honest with myself. There's only one answer: let go of the relationship, and let go of him – even if it hurts.

Even though I wanted to leave, I was also terrified of it.

Even though I didn't say the words out loud – he did – in that moment, the final decision was my own inner giving up. I could have reached for his hand in the car. I even thought about it for a second. I could have said, "It's okay," and given him a loving smile. But I didn't want that fake harmony anymore. I didn't want to feel so alone inside anymore. I didn't want to feel responsible for everything anymore. I was tired of reaching him, tired of trying to make myself seen, hoping he would understand me, see me, hear me. Tired of hoping that one day we'd finally sit down, have an honest conversation, and work through it together. I didn't want to feel this heaviness between us anymore, this emotional disconnection I couldn't seem to fix, no matter how hard I tried.

On one side, I knew I need to let go now. On the other side, I was terrified of being alone again. I still wanted to talk. Somehow, I wanted to let out all the frustration I’ve build over the weeks. And also I wanted to have a good closure. "It'll pass eventually," he had hoped. He was hoping for calmer, more peaceful times – times we had before and sometimes in the last weeks, too. But not enough. Did he really think it would happen with a snap of his fingers, without us working on it, without us talking? His words broke something inside me. In that moment, I felt how wrong I had been to hope that we both wanted to work on this together. That we would

reflect on our behavior together, communicate honestly and openly, and solve conflicts in

a healthy way.

The fact that I didn't leave right away, that I stayed and wanted to talk, triggered something in him that I had never been able to deal with well in our relationship. It became uncomfortable. Suddenly, there was this other person standing in front of me again. A side of him I never liked, one I never thought he had – but I had accepted it anyway. I can still hear his hurtful words. I can still hear the loudness in my head. In the past, that would have broken me. I'd feel unprotected, small, blamed for things that weren't mine to carry. But not today anymore, I'm standing up for myself and that evening, I felt this clarity in me, even stronger than before: I am not responsible for his life.

And then I froze. I couldn't leave right away. Inside me, two voices were fighting. One said: 'Go, this is right.' The other was terrified of the door. Because behind that door was the final end. I needed a moment. He misunderstood my reaction. He really believed I was doing this on purpose, to provoke him. Of course that wasn't true. I just needed a moment to understand what was happening, to gather myself. It's sad what a misunderstanding can do. And I always say: communication matters so much. Ask with curiosity what your partner meant, instead of jumping to conclusions. Most of the time, we're only interpreting things through our own lens. Like the saying goes: "We don't see the world as it is. We see the world as we are."

In Relationships, We Heal Our Wounds

Hurt people hurt people.

I hurt him too. Through my actions. Through my words. Through my own inner wounds. Of course, not on purpose. That's just how it is in relationships. We trigger each other. And we can also heal each other, and give each other a safe space, if we open our hearts and love each other again. But you have to be willing to do that.

In that moment, I felt one thing above all: a deep sadness about how stuck we both were, each in our own way. And we couldn't get out of it anymore. And no one is to blame here. This isn't about right or wrong. I, too, had experienced how my old childhood wounds got activated in this relationship, and how, without realizing it, I sometimes did things out of my own hurt that hurt him too. I had worked with my coaches for months, so that one day I was able to tell him when I felt emotionally overwhelmed and needed a break to calm down. So that one day I could voice my needs without criticizing. So that I didn't need to talk everything through anymore, and could just let some things be. So that I stayed, even when I was scared and wanted to run. Scared to open up, scared to be vulnerable. Scared to get hurt. And of course, I did get hurt. And I learned that getting hurt is part of being in a relationship. My partner doesn't do it on purpose. I forgave, and I opened my heart again. I had never managed that in any relationship before, and I'm so proud that I broke that old pattern. And I kept hoping: if I can do this, things will get better. But it's not a one-way street. You work on a relationship together, not alone. Everyone carries their part, everyone is responsible for their part. And in that moment, I felt: I can't walk this path for both of us. I can walk it for myself. I can make space for him to walk it too. But I can't walk it for him. And the illusion that he would really walk this path together with me – that illusion was gone.

Too Much Understanding, Too Much Love?

Too much understanding. Too much compassion. Can you really have too much of that? I ask myself that often since our breakup. Can you give a person too much compassion and love?

I don't think so. I just think I gave it in the wrong place, and I didn't recognize when it was time to let go.

"I always wished for a woman like you," he said that night. And it asked a deep question in me: But what do you do once your wish has come true? Because here I am, sitting right in front of you.

Wishing for something and getting it isn't the point. The real question is: once it's there, can you hold it? It's like money. Most people would probably say, "I wish I had a million euros." But can you actually hold on to that money once it comes – or is it gone after a few months? It's the same with love, with your career, with family and friendships. But for that, you also have to be willing to take accountability for yourself and your actions. For yourself, your life, and all the relationships in it.

Why I'm Sharing This

I'm writing these words without knowing if I'll ever publish them. I have this inner wish to do it. I love to express myself with writing, it feels healing, and it helps me. And I hope it helps others too – women and men. There's a saying: Healed people heal people.

And then the thoughts come: 'But am I really allowed to share this?'

And the next voice is: 'Yes, I am.' Of course I could describe all of this from a purely psychological and professional point of view – that's something I often do. But isn't it sometimes enough to simply read a story someone has actually lived through, as a person, not as a professional? Isn't it healing to talk about it, write about it, sing about it, dance about it – to express it in whatever way feels right?

For me, it is. And if my story helps even just one person process their own breakup, it makes my heart happy. And if that's you, please let me know.

What Remains is Love and Gratitude

At the very least, I can say I've learned so much in these past months. I've grown. I've broken patterns of behavior and belief that I had been working on for so long. But I can't heal relationship wounds alone – that only happens within a relationship. And I'm grateful I had this man by my side, that I finally got to do this, even though of course I wished for a different ending.

For him, I wish that one day he finds his own way, because underneath all those harsh sides, he truly has a good heart. And for myself, I wish for a partner by my side – someone I can dance through life with, laugh and cry with, and above all, love.

I still believe in love, despite everything. And I keep opening my heart - now even wider, instead of closing it.

No matter what you're going through right now – love remains the greatest strength we have, and it's exactly through its breaks that we can grow the most.

Thank you for being here with me.

Much love, Marianne