Dear male ego,
It’s not you - it’s me, after dealing with you and all the yous that came before you.
I’m writing to tell you that I’m breaking up with you.
I’ve done my best to keep you happy, but it’s never done the trick, and I can’t do it anymore.
“His heart’s in the right place”. That’s what they tell me. “He’s a good guy, he just really cares”, “He doesn’t know how he comes across”, “He doesn’t mean badly”, “He’s been through a lot”.
I believe them, and I know it’s not really about me at all.
The reason that you interrupt me, belittle me, dismiss me, circumvent me, exclude me, obstruct me, disrespect me, and do all the things you do to me is nothing to do with me at all.
And I can keep empathising and psychoanalysing and trying to understand you, but here’s the thing: I am tired. Exhausted, in fact.
Because all these things that you do to me - that have nothing to do with me - have exhausted me.
And isn’t that funny, when you think about it?
All these things that you’ve done to me, all these doubts you’ve given me, all these ways that you’ve exhausted me, you’ve done without even having me in mind.
And none of these things that I’ve done to protect you from feeling threatened, to make you feel important, to try and stop you from feeling that you needed to do those things to me, I’ve done without even having me in mind.
Because I now realise that we’ve both had you in mind, this whole time.
And today I’m swapping you out for me.
I’m breaking up with you, for my own good.
I’m breaking up with you because you do nothing but hurt me.
I’m breaking up with you because you're not letting me do my damn job.
I am breaking up with you because I am clean out of fucks to give.
So I’ll drop round a box of your things. I’ll bag up the insecurities and the self-doubt and the burnout you left me with and I’ll leave them on your doorstep, back where they belong.
And I’ll say goodbye.