It’s strange looking back now. Because nothing about it felt obvious at the time.

There wasn’t one moment I could point to. No clear line where things suddenly changed.

It was slower than that. Small things.

The way I started second-guessing myself. The way I would replay conversations in my head… wondering if I’d said something wrong.

The way I began adjusting without even realising I was doing it. Trying to keep things calm. Trying to avoid tension. Trying to make sure everything stayed okay.

And for a long time, I told myself that was normal. That relationships take effort.

That compromise is part of it. So I kept going. Kept softening things. Kept explaining. Kept making sure it didn’t become something bigger.

Until I stopped recognising myself in it. Not all at once. Just in small ways that built up over time. And even then… I didn’t call it anything.

I just felt it. That something wasn’t sitting right anymore. That I was carrying more than I should have been. That I was slowly losing parts of myself trying to keep everything steady.

I think the hardest part to admit is this: It didn’t feel like something I was in.

It just felt like my life. And when something becomes your normal, you don’t question it straight away. You adjust to it.

You make sense of it. You stay. I’m only starting to see it now.

Not clearly. Not completely. But enough to know that what I felt wasn’t nothing.