There is no screaming or, let’s say, broken plates, just silence that cuts deeper than any insult and absence that feels more brutal than rage. Because somewhere deep down, they already believe they are unwanted. And the partner? The partner lies in bed beside someone who texts strangers encouragement, reposts inspirational quotes, and checks in on people they barely know, but they haven’t been looked at looked at in weeks. There is no hand reaching across the sheets, no voice asking, “How was your day?” Just cold bodies, colder silences, and the slow dying of intimacy.
What is the worst part? You start convincing yourself that this is normal, that it was your fault, that this is what love becomes over time. But it’s not love. It is abandonment in plain sight. And then comes the extreme form of gaslighting: the weaponized kindness and the rehearsed victimhood. If you finally say, “I can’t do this anymore. I’m done,” they look shocked. “After all I have done for you?” is what you will hear. That is the final layer. They will dig up every nice thing they have ever done for anyone and wave it in your face as proof that they are a good person and you are the problem.
But here is what I need you to know and remember: kindness isn’t real if it skips the people who need it most. Take note of that. A parent who helps everyone except their child is not noble; they are neglectful. It does not matter how many community drives they organize or how many children they sponsor overseas if their child is going to bed every night wondering why they feel unloved. That’s not compassion; that is abandonment dressed up in charity. A partner who shines in every social setting, who makes everyone laugh, who plays the role of the perfect friend or coworker, but who leaves you crying on the bathroom floor unanswered, unseen, and untouched, is not good. They are a mirage, an illusion, a ghost with a good reputation.
A human being who needs a spotlight to give love, who only shows kindness when there is an audience clapping for them, who can only be generous when it earns them a badge of honor, they do not understand love. Because love isn’t performance; it is presence. It is what you do when no one is watching because it’s not performative.
If you’re listening to this and feeling confused, empty, or angry, that is your truth rising up. You have been starving while the world clapped for your abuser. That is the psychological violence of living with someone who suffers from “too friendly syndrome.” You were never asking for too much. You were asking the right person for something they had no intention of giving because, to them, love isn’t love; it is leverage.
And this is how you must heal: you’re not invisible or unworthy. You’re not too much. That’s what I want you to understand. You are finally waking up to the performance, the illusion, and their act. And once you see it, the curtain falls. You don’t have to play along anymore. You don’t have to keep explaining yourself or proving your pain. It is who you choose when there is nothing in it for you but connection. Real love is transactional; it is quiet, consistent, and accountable, and they do not know how to do any of that.
You get to leave the stage. That’s it. You get to rebuild where love isn’t a performance but a practice, where kindness isn’t used for clout but shared with consistency, where emotional presence does not have to be earned. It is given freely because you matter. And that is the world you deserve, not one built on someone else’s applause, but one that honors your truth always.
Read More: When a narcissist realizes they lost you
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