I used to think love meant endurance, that the more you could tolerate, the more you truly loved. I told myself that patience was proof of faith, that forgiveness would heal him, and that “maybe he’ll change” was a valid reason to stay.
But I learned the hard way that sometimes, love isn’t the problem, who you love is.
How It All Began
When I met Tunde, I thought I had found everything I prayed for. He was charming, confident, and had this warm smile that could disarm your worries. My friends used to joke that we looked like a couple from a Nollywood love story.
He called me every morning, sent long goodnight texts, and made me feel like the most beautiful woman on earth. For a while, I believed I had found my forever.
But slowly, the “forever” began to look like a nightmare.
The Subtle Shift
It started small.
He became more controlling — questioning who I talked to, what I wore, and how long I stayed out.
“Joy, you don’t need all those male friends,” he’d say with a half-smile that hid jealousy behind affection.
Then came the guilt trips. If I disagreed with him, he’d twist my words.
“You just like arguing,” he’d say. “You want to prove you’re better than me, abi?”
So, I learned to stay quiet. I thought silence would keep the peace.
But silence only feeds the ego of a man who doesn’t want peace, he wants power.
The Cheating I Denied
I remember the first time I suspected he was cheating.
It was a late-night message that popped up on his phone while he was in the shower. The message read, “When are you coming again, baby?”
My heart sank, but I told myself it must be a misunderstanding. Love, I thought, should trust.
But as time went on, the evidence piled up like dirt you try to sweep under a rug and one day, the rug lifts itself.
Different women.
Different lies.
Different excuses.
When I confronted him, he laughed.
“Joy, you worry too much. You know I love only you.”
That was the day I realized how manipulation feels warm enough to comfort you, sharp enough to destroy you.
When Love Turns to Fear
It didn’t stop at cheating.
Sometimes he’d raise his voice so loud the neighbors would knock on my door to check if I was okay. Other times, he’d throw things when angry — a glass, a phone, anything within reach.
Once, his hand brushed my face in anger, and though it wasn’t a slap, it felt like one.
I remember sitting on my bathroom floor, tears rolling down my cheeks, asking myself, “How did I get here?”
The woman I once was — strong, ambitious, full of laughter, was now a shadow of herself.
That night, I prayed. Not for him to change this time, but for me to have the strength to leave.
The Awakening
The day I left wasn’t loud or dramatic.
It was an ordinary Thursday. He had gone out, and I packed my things quietly — my clothes, my books, and my dignity.
When he came back and saw my things gone, he called, shouting, “You’ll never find another man like me!”
And for the first time, I smiled.
Because that was exactly what I wanted — never to find another man like him.
Healing Takes Time
Leaving didn’t mean the pain disappeared overnight.
There were days I missed him, even after all the hurt. Days I questioned if I made the right decision.
But healing isn’t linear, it’s messy, slow, and sometimes lonely.
I went to therapy, leaned on my faith, and surrounded myself with people who reminded me of my worth.
I began to rebuild myself piece by piece — the Joy who laughed easily, who dreamed big, who loved life again.
What I Learned
That relationship taught me what love should never feel like — fear, anxiety, or pain.
It taught me that being loved and being controlled are not the same thing.
It taught me that no amount of prayer can fix someone who doesn’t see the need to change.
And most importantly, it taught me that I deserve more — more peace, more respect, and more joy.
If You’re Reading This and You’re Hurting…
Maybe you’re in a relationship where you’re constantly walking on eggshells.
Maybe you’ve convinced yourself that enduring abuse is part of love.
Maybe you’re afraid of starting over.
Please hear me, you deserve more.
You deserve a love that doesn’t make you question your worth.
You deserve someone who prays with you, not preys on you.
You deserve to be safe, seen, and valued.
Don’t let fear of loneliness keep you in a place that’s killing your soul. Leaving isn’t weakness, it’s survival.
And one day, you’ll look back and thank yourself for choosing peace over pain.
To the Men Out There
If you’re reading this as a man, let this be a call to reflection.
Love isn’t about dominance or control. It’s not about making someone feel small so you can feel powerful.
Real men protect hearts, they don’t break them.
If you’ve made mistakes, seek help, apologize, and do better. Because change begins with awareness.
To the Women Who Left and Those Still Struggling
Your story doesn’t end in heartbreak. It begins there.
You’re not broken — you’re being rebuilt.
You’re not weak — you’re waking up.
And one day, you’ll meet someone who reminds you that love should feel like peace, not war.
Until then, choose yourself.
Choose healing.
Choose freedom.
A Final Word
Not all heartbreaks end in loss — some end in awakening.
And that’s what mine did.
It broke me open enough to meet the version of myself I had forgotten — the woman who knows her worth, speaks her truth, and never settles for less again.
My name is Joy, and this is my story — the heartbreak that taught me I deserved more.
If you’re going through something similar, don’t keep it to yourself.
Talk to someone. Reach out for help. Share your story.
And if this resonated with you, please share it — you never know who needs these words today. ❤️