Relationship Status:
Still in the relationship, beginning to see the truth
Length of Relationship:
5–7 years
Types of Emotional Abuse Experienced:
Mocking, minimizing, name-calling, gaslighting, twisting caring into a flaw
Her Story
My name is Rachel, and I’ve been told that I care too much. That I give too much. That I do too much. Not in a tender way, but in a mocking, dismissive tone. The man who promised to love me rolls his eyes at the very parts of me that love the hardest. He calls me obsessed, as though my devotion is a sickness, as though my attention is a flaw.
I never thought that caring could feel like a crime. But in his words, it does. He sharpens them into weapons, and suddenly my love feels like madness.
When he says I’m “obsessed,” it isn’t just about this one thing or that. It makes my whole being a joke. The way I was raised, the way I pour myself into people. I grew up believing that caring was a strength. I was always told I was a good listener. That tending to the details, making sure everyone felt seen, was love in its truest form. My mother called it “having a big heart.”
But now, with him, that same heart feels like a punchline. He twists my giving into a flaw, and suddenly, I don’t know if I’ve been wrong my whole life. Was I too much all along? Am I broken in the way I love?
The worst part is how his words creep into my own thoughts. I replay them late at night when I should be sleeping. I wonder if maybe I really am obsessed. Maybe I really am a burden. I start to question every gesture, every act of kindness, as if love itself has become suspicious.
But deep down, a quiet part of me knows the truth: my caring is not a curse, and my heart is not a flaw. His words are not mirrors, they are shackles. They are not truth, but control.
I am not obsessed. I am not crazy. I am a woman who loves deeply, who shows up fully, who was taught that giving is sacred. He wants me to believe otherwise, because if he can make me doubt my worth, he can keep me small.
But I am starting to see it. I am starting to understand that his voice is not my own. And maybe the bravest thing I can do is hold onto the part of me that still whispers: Rachel, you are not what he calls you. You never were.
What Helped
Holding onto the belief that my voice still matters. Journaling late at night when I feel like I’m disappearing. Remembering how I was raised. That love is meant to be given freely, not punished.
What She Wises She’d Known
That someone mocking your love isn’t just unkind, it’s abuse.
That the way you care is not a weakness.
That love shouldn’t ever make you question your worth.
To the Woman Still Struggling
You are not crazy. You are not too much.
Your love is not a flaw, it’s your strength.
Don’t let his words become your own voice.
What Rising Looks Like
It looks like remembering who I am beyond his definitions.
It looks like holding onto the whisper that says: Rachel, you are not what he calls you. You never were.
