I Called It Love - But It Was Self-Abandonment

For years, I called it love.

But if I’m honest, it was self-abandonment — the kind that feels noble until it leaves you hollow.

I stayed when I should’ve gone. I apologized for things that weren’t mine. I stayed quiet when I was really screaming. I told myself I was being kind when what I was really doing was disappearing.

It took me a long time to see that the greatest distance in my relationships wasn’t between me and the people I loved — it was between me and myself.

In therapy, I see this every day: women who equate loyalty with self-sacrifice. We confuse being loving with being selfless. But there’s a difference between loving and losing yourself in the process.

IFS (Internal Family Systems) has language for this. It teaches that we are made of many parts — our protectors, our exiles, our inner critics, our Self-energy. When we stop listening to one of those voices because it’s confusing, inconvenient, or painful, we’re abandoning that part of ourselves. When we silence the part that says, “This doesn’t feel right,” because we don’t want conflict, we abandon the truth-teller — our core Self. When we push away the part that’s angry or scared, we exile the one who most needs our compassion. When we overwork, overgive, or over-care, we often do it to keep those vulnerable parts quiet — yet tell ourselves the story that we’re being helpful, valuable, and therefore worthy of love.

That’s self-abandonment in real time.

I know because I’ve done it, too. I’ve heard that inner whisper — the one that says, “This isn’t working,” or “That’s a dealbreaker” — and I’ve told it, “Not now.” I’ve ignored my gut and called it being patient. I’ve silenced the part that wanted honesty and called it peace — and even, sometimes, strategy.

How can I connect in a relationship if I’m not even there — if I’ve already abandoned myself?

Loving yourself more doesn’t mean loving others less. It means loving them from a place of wholeness instead of self-lessness or abandonment. It means listening to your parts — the wise one, the hurt one, the tired one, the brave one, the scared one — and letting them know they matter. Letting your wise Self lead. It means trusting that you have room and time for others without leaving yourself behind.

Coming home to yourself isn’t dramatic. It’s small moments of honesty: pausing before you say yes, checking in with yourself and noticing when your body tightens, choosing you with kindness and without apology, speaking the truth even when your voice shakes.

You don’t have to earn your place by disappearing. You belong here — exactly as you are.

If this resonates, therapy is a place where you can find your way back to yourself. Your whole Self.

“How can I connect in a relationship if I’m not even there—if I’ve already abandoned myself?”

— JS