The Cost of Patience: How Enduring Love Actually Costs You
My problem is that it takes me too long to reach my boiling point.
Truth be told, I’m blessed. I have a fantastic family and amazing friends. I’ve never wanted for anything in these two areas and I recognize my privilege about that.
Relationships are tough. Women speak about women being weird and how hard it is to make friends as adults. I understand this as an introvert, but don’t understand it as someone who’s had lifelong friends.
I remember registering for beauty school. I had the idea that all of the people in my class would be straight out of high school. That I’d walk in every evening, do what I need to do, and walk out. Team no new friends, because there’s no need.
On the first day, I was surprised by the number of more mature classmates. But, the same agenda applied — walk in, do what I need to do, walk out. This worked for about the first four days. By the new week, Rebecca found her way into my presence.
Every day she’d walk past me and shout a big “HI DOM!” I’d say hey. She’d ask me about my day, I’d respond and ask about hers, we’d go about our business. In my normal me fashion, if we found ourselves sitting by each other, I’d crack a jokey joke and then return back to my RBF. She’d cackle. Eventually, her asks about my day, turned into asks about my weekend. Eventually, that turned into invitations to sit with her at lunch. Eventually, that turned into seats beside each other. Eventually, that turned into invitations to nights out. Eventually, that turned into her being one of my bridesmaids and best friends.
I made three friends in beauty school out of a class of maybe 18. I have one friend from adulthood. One from work. I have two best friends from college. One from high school. Two from childhood. My circle has never been about breadth, it’s been about depth.
Depth of friendship, and a stable family is probably why I haven’t had much exercise in what it feels like to be enraged.
If you’ve read my books, or been on this journey with me, you’ve gotten a taste of the experiences I’ve had in past relationships. I’ve been hurt, I’ve held on too long, through it all-I’ve believed in the power of love “ “ and shared values to keep things together.
And herein lies my problem.
Stories are often told of the women who black, the women who throw the grits, the women who post the receipts, and the women who burn things to the ground.
Not often enough are the stories told of the women who kept the peace for too long, let grace and dignity lead their actions even when there was every good reason not to, remained silent when the lies being told about them and their story are loud, and the women who deserved not just better but for that experience to have never crossed their paths.
No one way is better than the other. Every person reacts and responds differently based on their history, their current situation, their beliefs, their faith, and their goals. But the women who shout about it are heard, and likely heal differently, maybe even faster than those of us who take it easy in the name of reputation, or God’s ultimate redemption.
Truth be told, there are lies being told about me, and I do not know how to manage it. Mostly because if I start telling the truth, I may be perceived as
Bitter
Angered
Scorned
Resentful
Hostile
Rejected
Posturing
Attention-seeking
Self-aggrandizing
But, what does one do when they exhaust every attempt to be patient, kind, graceful, preserving, tolerant, loving, considerate, respectful, hopeful, and provide chance, after chance, after chance, after chance, for change, for nothing, for lies, for deception, for harm?
What does one do except be exhausted?
Because it’s one thing to sever ties and it’s another to be tied to not only the hurt caused but the perpetual perpetration that seems like it’s never going to pop, stop, blow up.
I’m boiled. The bubbles have risen to the top and the balloon has met its needle.
And yet, I sit here — writing. Not.blowing.it.up.
The word today to girls like me is: Do not delay. At the first true sign that things are awry, believe it. There is hope and there is healing, but not while you’re in it.
People don’t change.
My friends have been my friends for this long without strife because people don’t change. Count up their character, and count up the cost of your well-being against anyone else’s perception of your happiness. Your real smile will always outweigh anyone else’s opinion.
Holding on to patience, grace, and hope for too long can become an act of self-sabotage. There’s a fine line between giving someone a chance and giving them permission to hurt you again and again. When the hurt keeps repeating itself, it’s no longer about enduring love or faith — it’s about holding on to an idea of self when you’ve already lost your identity.
I’ve been slow to boil, yes. But once you’re boiling, there’s no going back to simmering in silence. I’ve learned that protecting your peace, your truth, and your heart is not an act of bitterness — it’s an act of strength. Acknowledging the exhaustion and recognizing when enough is enough is the most radical self-love we can give ourselves.
So, to the women like me, who’ve let things linger in the name of love, grace, or reputation: your well-being is not worth sacrificing for anyone’s comfort. Speak your truth, unapologetically. The world may not always hear it, but you will be free. And the freedom to be fully you — unburdened by lies, by hurt, by someone else’s agenda — is the most beautiful redemption of all.
