At some point, my brain tried to negotiate a “solution.”
If I slept with someone else, maybe we’d be even.
Maybe the balance sheet would zero out.
I proposed options that felt rational in theory, but emotionally messy in reality.
Eventually, close to our anniversary, he said I had a short window to do something if I truly needed it.
I downloaded a dating app. I talked to someone. I even set up the possibility of meeting.
And then I couldn’t go through with it.
Because the truth was blunt:
I didn’t want revenge. I wanted to feel safe again.
And you can’t outsource that.
Now, almost a year later, the intrusive flashbacks have faded. The pain isn’t as sharp. I’m not breaking down after intimacy anymore.
But I’m left with a hard operational reality:
- We made a high-risk decision with a low-maturity process.
- We didn’t align on the “why.”
- We didn’t run an emotional stress test.
- We confused curiosity with readiness.
And I’m still rebuilding trust in myself for saying yes when my gut was saying “not yet.”
The biggest lesson wasn’t about sex. It was about how easily love can turn into self-betrayal when you’re afraid to disappoint.
