It’s been 14 months since I found out.
Since the illusion collapsed.
Since everything I thought was real about our relationship came undone—quietly, slowly, painfully.

And I’m still dealing with it.
Not every day. Not always overwhelmingly.
But it lives in my body.
In how I flinch when someone new shows up.
In how I guard the peace I’ve fought tooth and soul to reclaim.

It wasn’t always terrible. That’s the hard part.
There were moments of laughter. Routine. Familiarity.
Moments when I told myself:

“He’s a good man. We just need time.”

But fake love isn’t always loud.
Sometimes it’s subtle.
It looks like emotional absence wrapped in consistency.
It feels like waiting next to someone who never truly arrives.

Fake love costs you your clarity.

It makes you question what’s real.
You feel ignored, but he says, “I’m just tired.”
You feel disconnected, but he says, “It’s not a big deal.”

And slowly, over time, you stop trusting yourself.

You stop asking for what you need.
You stop speaking the truth.
You stop expecting intimacy.

Because fake love teaches you that your needs are the problem—not the emotional vacancy of the person in front of you.

Fake love costs you your joy.

I didn’t realize how much of my light I had tucked away,
how much of my energy I was using just to stay emotionally afloat,
until it was over.

Until I left.
Until I faced the grief.
Until I stopped explaining myself to someone who never intended to understand.

It took so long to get back here.
So much silence. So much internal rebuilding.
So many days of just functioning.

But the other day?

I had my first day of euphoria.
A natural high.
A wave of gratitude for my life as it is now—full, wild, free.

Not because of someone else.
Because I finally came back to myself.

Fake love costs you time—but it gives you truth.

If you’re in it, you don’t even realize what it’s doing to you.
You think you’re being loyal. Patient. Forgiving.
You think the problem is you.

And by the time you realize it’s not, you’ve already spent months—maybe years—trying to make something real out of something hollow.

But what I’ve learned is this:

Fake love always shows you something.
And when you finally walk away from it, you walk with wisdom you’ll never lose again.

This is what healing looks like:

• Flinching when a new man shows up—and knowing that’s not weakness, it’s wisdom
• Choosing solitude over attention
• Learning to feel safe in your own skin again
• Laughing with your kids and realizing the joy is real
• Smelling the air in a new country and knowing it’s your life now—not anyone else’s

It’s slow. It’s not linear.
But one day, without warning, you’ll have a moment of pure joy.
And you’ll think:

“I made it. I’m here. And I didn’t just survive. I healed.”

So if you’re still healing from fake love?

You’re not behind.
You’re not broken.
You’re just rebuilding in the only way that works:
Brick by brick. Truth by truth.

And the next time someone shows up?

You’ll know the difference.
Because real love feels like relief—not recovery.