Actually, I'm not fine… blog

Part 4: Relationships Doomed Before They Began

Even before I understood the depth of my own trauma, I carried it into every relationship. The lessons from my childhood—the absence of trust, the constant need for control, the fear of being hurt—followed me like shadows. And because I was raised in a world where love was conditional, I didn’t enter relationships with hope or vulnerability. I entered them with caution, strategy, and often, self-sabotage.

I learned early that people especially men, given my upbringing could not be trusted fully. My mother’s bitterness toward men, the way my father left, the lies I was coached to carry, all of it shaped my understanding of relationships. Love was dangerous. Attachment was risky. And so, long before any relationship could breathe, I was already bracing for impact, protecting myself from disappointment, betrayal, or abandonment.

It’s not that I didn’t want love. I did, desperately. But my understanding of it was flawed. I approached relationships like a negotiation: who could I trust, how much could I give, how much should I withhold to stay safe? When my partner spoke in ways I didn’t like or behaved in ways that scared me, my instinct was to leave. I controlled the relationship because control was the only way I knew how to survive.

Even my first marriage, which outsiders might have seen as stable or safe, was built on these foundations. It was more of a friendship than a romantic partnership. We liked some of the same things, shared some of the same routines, but underneath, I was managing control, making sure I could keep myself safe. I made choices not out of love but out of strategy. I was ensuring that I wouldn’t be vulnerable in ways I couldn’t recover from.

Looking back, I can see how much my childhood shaped these patterns. I wasn’t broken, not entirely. I was surviving. I had learned early that my voice might not be heard, my feelings might not be validated, and my needs might be ignored. I learned to rely on myself because no one else would, or could, protect me. And so I took the reins, even when it meant leaving spaces where vulnerability might have created true connection.

There was a tragic irony in this approach. In trying to protect myself, I often pushed away the people who could have loved me fully. I missed moments of intimacy because I was too busy ensuring I wouldn’t get hurt. Relationships were doomed not because of my partners but because of the fear I carried, the patterns I had internalized, and the survival strategies I had perfected over decades.

It took years, and the guidance of a compassionate partner and a therapist, to begin to see the difference between surviving and living. To understand that love does not have to be a negotiation. That intimacy does not have to be a risk to one’s existence. That being vulnerable is not the same as being unsafe.

Closing Reflection:
How much of our adult relationships are shaped by patterns we learned to survive childhood? And how often do we mistake protection for wisdom, strategy for love, or independence for strength?