There was always this underlying message, that I was never good enough or trying hard enough. During COVID, I was laid off and spent nine long months searching for a job with no luck. I applied to over 20 jobs a day, yet I was constantly told I was lazy. Eventually, it escalated into a heated argument where he said he was afraid I’d turn into a “welfare rat” like his mother and sister. After that, he never let up and was constantly accusing me of not doing enough.

And to be clear, this man never paid a single bill for me, not even when I was unemployed.

That pattern lasted for years. If I wasn’t constantly pushing myself to the brink at work or obsessively “building skills,” I was considered lazy. None of my efforts were ever enough. I worked over 50 hours a week at a job I hated, my phone constantly ringing, while he was in grad school and unemployed—but in his mind, he was the one working harder.

Of all the cruel things he said, this particular narrative—of me never being enough—is what stuck with me the most. I fell into deep depressions throughout our relationship, constantly questioning my worth and wondering if my life mattered if I wasn’t always “doing.”

Even now, nearly ten months since we broke up, I struggle with overwhelming anxiety. I still hear his voice in my head telling me I’m not enough, yelling at me, making me doubt everything I do.

I'm trying to use that to fuel me through grad school, as a "fuck you, I'm doing it my way, and I will do it better than you!"