The Past
I met Theron in my early twenties, through a mutual acquaintance in a bustling midwestern city. He was captivating. Articulate, driven, with an intense gaze that made me feel seen, at least at first. We clicked, or so I believed. He worked in finance, I in healthcare. Our worlds felt perfectly aligned, our conversations long and engaging. Everything felt new, exciting, full of potential. I was eager for a serious, loving connection.
My habit, the one that became the root of so much strife, was a harmless little exclamation: “Oh, my stars!” It was something my grandmother used to say, a quaint, gentle way of expressing surprise or mild exasperation. It was woven into my speech, a natural part of me, like the way I’d sometimes tap my fingers when thinking. Theron noticed it early on. He’d chuckle, a little patronizingly, and say, “Elisea, my dear, that’s so... charmingly old-fashioned. But perhaps a touch unprofessional for someone as bright as you.” I brushed it off. He was just trying to help me, right? To refine me, make me more polished for the world he moved in.
Then the chuckles turned into pointed looks. The suggestions became requests. “Could you try not to say ‘Oh, my stars!’ so much? It just sounds a bit childish, you know?” I agreed. I truly did. I thought it was a small compromise. If something I said genuinely bothered him, I would try to adjust. I wanted harmony. I wanted to be a good partner. But the thing was, Theron himself had habits that were far less refined. He’d often swear under his breath when frustrated, or make crude jokes that sometimes made me wince. When I gently pointed out his own use of colorful language, his eyes would narrow. “That’s different,” he’d say, a dismissive wave of his hand. “My language is expressive. Yours is just… unbecoming.” I felt a tiny seed of confusion sprout in my chest. Why were his rules only for me?
The Turning Point
Life, as it often does, threw a curveball. A sudden, stressful situation arose at work – a deadline shifted, a major project threatened. I was texting Theron, trying to convey the chaos, and out it slipped, instinctively: “Oh, my stars, you won’t believe this new deadline!” The response was immediate, chilling. Not concern for my stress, but a terse, angry message: “I thought we discussed this. Don’t you remember what you promised?” My heart sank. It wasn't about the *word* anymore. It was about my failure to comply. About his control. I apologized profusely, explaining it was a genuine slip, a habit hard to break. His silence stretched for an entire day, heavy and punishing. When he finally responded, it was aloof, cold. “I’m not attracted to people who can’t keep their word, Elisea. Or who can’t present themselves with a certain decorum.”
I knew then. This wasn't about a phrase. It was about bending me, shaping me into his ideal. I found myself asking, hesitantly, “Theron, if it’s about decorum, will you also stop with your… more expressive language?” His reply was a swift, sharp dismissal. “I don’t appreciate your attitude. Every time I bring up an issue, you try to turn it back on me. This conversation is over. Don’t contact me until next week.” He cut me off. Just like that. In that moment, the confusion lifted, replaced by a searing clarity. The tiny seed of unease had blossomed into a thorny bush, choking out my own voice. I was done. I would not wait until next week. I would not be trained like a pet. I had a small, cherished journal at his apartment, a gift from my late aunt, filled with my earliest dreams. I decided I would retrieve it, and then, I would be free.
Looking Back Now
Getting my journal back proved to be a final, dramatic act in his play. I messaged him, calmly explaining I needed to retrieve it. He was away, he said, on a work trip. He offered to mail it, but then, in the very next breath, suggested it was probably “only worth a few copper coins” and offered me a sum of money instead. I declined, firm and clear. The journal wasn’t about monetary value; it was about memory, about *me*. That's when his true colors blared. He called me, screaming, accusing me of being desperate, of bothering his network. When I finally found my voice and called him manipulative, controlling, he sputtered. “Manipulative? Controlling? I have a vast network of successful people who respect me! You’re just immature, Elisea. I’ve dated far more women than you’ve dated men; I know how relationships work.” He then tried to smooth it over, a fake apology laced with veiled threats about his reputation in our city, telling me I’d be successful, but hoping I wouldn't spread 'rumors'.
It was a performance, transparent and pathetic. He even admitted, with a chilling lack of empathy, that he’d acted angry about the phrase to “reinforce how bad it was” so I wouldn’t do it again. Like training a dog. I hung up. I didn’t get my journal back. He cut off contact completely, believing he was “dropping” me, not knowing I had already dropped him, days ago. The loss of that journal stung, a small price, but the freedom that rushed in was boundless. I was no longer walking on eggshells, no longer editing my very essence to fit someone else’s narrow, hypocritical ideal. That short, intense period taught me more about self-worth than years of smooth sailing ever could. It showed me how quickly a vibrant personality can be dimmed by constant, subtle criticism and control, all under the guise of 'improvement'. I emerged scarred, yes, but undeniably stronger, with a clearer vision of who I am and what I deserve.
The Lesson
This experience taught me the profound importance of trusting my gut, especially when those small, internal alarm bells begin to chime. True love, true partnership, never demands that you shrink yourself or abandon your authentic self for their comfort or control. It's never about one set of rules for them and another, stricter set for you. Healthy relationships are built on mutual respect, equal standards, and the celebration of each other's quirks, not the erasure of them.
Your identity is precious. Guard it fiercely. Don't let anyone, no matter how charming, convince you that your natural expressions, your harmless habits, or your very essence, are something to be corrected or ashamed of. Listen to those whispers of unease. They are your intuition speaking, warning you of what lies beneath the polished surface. Pay attention to how someone reacts when you set a boundary or question an unfair standard. Their true character will be revealed not in their words, but in their response to your assertion of self.
Don't wait for the big red flags. The smallest, most seemingly insignificant compromises can pave the way for a path you never intended to walk. Prioritize your peace, your authenticity, and your self-respect above all else. You are worth more than any price someone puts on your silence or your conformity.