What happens to her when she’s tired, broken, used, and fed up?

I tried my best to be his everything, while he just ignored me; there came the point in my seven-year relationship that enough was enough for both of us (I think).

I walked away loving a man I thought I would grow old with, or maybe that was the story I was selling myself all these years.

Staying was killing every part of me until I couldn’t take it anymore. I was no longer willing to waste another year.

He hurt me so many times with his in-and-out games.

I got tired of the pain.

Women don’t recover fast from this type of relationship; it takes a miracle to get over a breakup like this.

“a man who comes into and out of your life will only waste your time.”



I grew tired as the months turned into years of back and forth, I aged faster than I should have, and my health took a toll from the lack of stability. Anxiety was my new best friend showing up before the warning.

I tried to give him peace, and he gave me chaos.

I got tired of wanting it to be me, for him to choose me.

If it wasn’t someone else, it was the bottle of Rum.

I could have never won the rum battle, so I never pushed too hard.

I tried to lead by example, but my sober ways were too intimidating.

He gave me the pathetic excuse of needing space once again “sure; you need space; after all, you have nothing to offer but empty beds at night and an empty heart.”

I got tired of chasing the chase. I got tired of failing every time I tried.

I ended it with no questions because I was tired of waiting to be loved how I knew I deserved.

He left me tired.

Not even the best of prayers or spells could save us or me from the ending that was just destined to be.


I wouldn’t say I liked the word broken after the first heartbreak, the first time he hurt me. I hated the word BROKEN so much because it said it all. Saying the word broken exposed me in ways I never thought I would feel.

I was indeed broken and in need of self-repair. Rebuilding is never easy, not when your soul has been demolished.

Rebuilding takes time, money and effort; rebuilding repeatedly also left me tired.

I realized that brokenness isn’t all that bad; it isn’t all that great, either.

Broken would leave me with my heart exposed to the one person I was trying to save, “ME.”

Broken showed me all my ugly, painful, evil ways, the times that I said “no,” and I gave in, and all the times I abandoned myself.

Feeling and being BROKEN led me to my healing, but it gave me only one person to talk to, GOD.

Broken is Ugly and Power.


My body felt used, but so did my kindness and faith.

With each breakup, I picked up the pieces, sometimes, I had help, but almost all the time, it was me.

My kindness and love would check in on him, while he never once cared if I was dead or alive. I took him back with faith and got the same poison he dished out every time.

This time he used my kindness one last time when I walked away.

He used me so much that my soul became depleted, thirsty, broken, tired and in desperate need of repair.

His constant in and out game of I want you; I don’t want you, drove me to many breaking points; this time, my breaking point was letting him go.


What they don’t tell you about toxic love; Toxic love can get you so high that you can’t sleep, eat or think right.

Your toxic love will destroy your life if you don’t get out; for some, it will take their life.

I got out, but I took a long time.

For me, it took seven years to get fed up; it took seven years to get fed up with the bullshit excuses I made for him and me.

Every woman has a breaking point. Make no mistake about that.

I thought after years in therapy and healing, I would have had it figured out with him, that things would get better; I ignored the constant danger signals my body gave, I ignored God’s unanswered prayers, and I persisted as if, by the grace of God it was going to come together.

I questioned myself every night for feeling bad about wanting out of the relationship; I got angry at him for never changing when I thought he would; I felt stupid for not accepting him as an addict, for not loving him for the heartless person that he is and thought I really could have prayed our relationship into recovery.

I foolishly thought I could make him love me.

His borning weekends, where he kept me hidden in his apartment, and his effortless routine of DRINK. SMOKE WEED. EAT. PASSOUT left me lonely and hungry for more of life.

I got fed up with what he had to offer.

I got fed up with trying to feel something that was no longer there.

 I got fed up with always being disappointed.

I didn’t walk away from my seven-year relationship because I never loved him; I walked away because choosing him meant abandoning god, abandoning me.

Maybe he tried, I tell people; perhaps he didn’t, but I was no longer in a state of mind to find out. I would no longer need him, and he never showed up.

If I was doing this, sever year relationship alone, if I was picking up the pieces after each time he discarded me, if I was still living and trying with life, then I never needed him; all I needed was God and me.

Because at the end of it, it wasn’t him that saved me; it was me that kept me going with the grace of God.

I didn’t lose anything by walking away; I gained my life, peace of mind and time to restore the years of being the tired, broken, used and fed-up version of myself.

What happens now, you ask, with the tired, broken, used, fed-up woman? She lives.

No, she’s not a victim, and she isn’t thriving either, but she lives.

She lusts, craves, cries, laughs unapologetically, eats, rests, plays, and grieves.

She is cautious, still scared, and now she can smell hell because it was a place she lived for so long; her smile is neither victory nor defeat.

Women like me are always labelled senseless, broken, and have daddy issues.

Maybe all the labels were accurate as the years turned into too many, but others failed to see that I loved with my whole heart, and I needed him to break me down; I needed to heal and unhealed.

Sure, I could have walked away, but I didn’t want anyone to walk away from me, so I stayed; I stayed because the brokenness, tired version of me needed him as a reminder that I was broken and exhausted. I needed him to suck every ounce of love and respect I had for him out of me to walk away finally.

I needed to take a few steps backwards to gain more strength.

She moves on.

She lives.

The End.  



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