There’s been a quiet grief I’ve carried for years — not just about the end of the relationship with my ex, but about the story I told myself about why it ended.

For a long time, I believed the worst.
I believed she never really loved me.
I believed she was only with me for my money.
And I believed that I was fundamentally unworthy of being loved.

But now I see how much of that narrative was shaped by pain.
And worse — by the influence of someone who benefited from me believing it: my mother.

I didn’t face the person who caused me the deepest pain.
Instead, I internalized it — and then let it spill into my relationship. I leaned on my mum when my partner couldn’t meet me emotionally, and I know now that made things worse.

The truth is, we just weren’t compatible.
And she wasn’t malicious.
She did love me — as much as she could, in her own way.

It wasn’t mature love, and we weren’t emotionally equipped to repair the ruptures.
But it was real. And I didn’t make it up.

My mum magnified every crack. Twisted it. Poisoned it.
She turned disagreements into betrayals, and turned my pain into a weapon — against someone who didn’t deserve it.

And I let it happen.
That’s the part that brings me the most shame.

But now… I’m letting go.

Not of the memories.
Not of the sadness.
But of the lie that it was all fake — and that I was unlovable.

She has a new partner now. He’s stable, grounded, probably a better match for where she is in life. And at the time, that hurt. It bruised my ego. It stung in ways I couldn’t admit back then.

But now? It doesn’t hurt anymore.

In fact — I’m genuinely happy for them.
It’s the best thing for her, for Victor, and probably for me too.
Because if we’d stayed together out of fear, confusion, or codependence, we all would’ve suffered.

That doesn’t mean it wasn’t real.
It just means it wasn’t meant to last.

And that truth no longer breaks me.
It grounds me.

Because we did our best — with what we had.
We had love, even if it wasn’t the kind that lasts.

And maybe most importantly: I’ve broken the cycle.

I won’t carry my mother’s poison forward.
I won’t hand it down to my son.
I’ve come out the other side with more clarity, more compassion, and a kind of peace that feels earned.

So I’m letting go now.
Not with blame.
But with honour.

Because we tried.
Because we loved.
And because it’s time to move on — with truth, not shame.