Breaking the Pattern

This Women’s Day, I learned a painful but necessary lesson.

 

I should have learned from the past. The red flags were always there. But being the forgiving kind, I hoped.

 

Years ago, I befriended a man. He seemed refined, polished, fun, and active. What started as a casual running friendship turned into a whirlwind of drinking, eating, movies, and a need from him for something more.  But early on, I saw the signs—signs I ignored.

 

He never respected my time. Never valued it. He was always late, unapologetically so. Once, for a 1:00 PM lunch, he was an hour late—no messages, no calls. I sat there, waiting, hungry. Then something in me snapped. I changed out of my going-out clothes, ate at home, and refused to join him. I told myself I wouldn’t tolerate such disregard. But I did. Again and again.

 

I excused it. Blamed it on his circumstances—newly separated, going through a divorce, struggling to find his way. I let my boundaries slip, even though I knew better. Meanwhile, he was on dating apps, searching for something, someone. And when he finally found the confidence to date, I realized I wanted no part of it. I walked away.

 

Without him, life felt lighter. No excess alcohol, no indulgence in things I didn’t even crave. Just peace. A casual wave when we crossed paths. And from my balcony, I watched the parade of women who followed.

 

Then came the mistake. A chance message. Let's catch up, a lunch?

 

A play I had longed to see for years—he had always wanted to attend a play but never had the right company for. I thought, why not? I booked the tickets. Shared them with him, venue and time clearly marked, told him well in advance. 

 

And yet, on Women’s Day, after rushing back from a party, after making sure we had enough time to reach the venue, I found myself in the same, exhausting cycle. He was late—again. Thirty minutes this time. And his excuse? That the venue I chose was too far, why would I do that!

 

Then came the gaslighting. It was my fault for picking that location. The venue—one of the most popular in the city—was somehow beneath him. And then, the final insult: “Sweetheart, don’t get upset.” As if my frustration was unreasonable. As if he hadn’t just stolen my time—again.

 

But this time, something shifted. I didn’t yell. I didn’t lash out. I simply saw. A leopard never changes its spots. The cycle would never break unless I broke it.

 

I lost the chance to watch a play I had waited years to see. But I gained something more. A final, undeniable realization.

 

No more hoping. No more excusing. No more waiting.

“Time and tide and Shiromi wait for no man”

 

Thank you, Cher. I needed the reminder.

https://www.instagram.com/motivatecorner_com/reel/C0zd93ooZ7D/