Why I Finally Stopped Trying to Move In

Hey friends, it’s Tina. Pull up a chair, grab a beverage (preferably one that doesn’t judge), and let’s have a heart-to-heart.

I recently stumbled across a quote that hit me like a bag of wet bricks. It said: “The deepest heartbreak is realizing someone you committed to had nothing real to offer you.” Ouch, right? My first thought was, “Wow, who gave you permission to read my diary?” My second thought was a sudden, vivid memory of myself trying to explain basic human empathy to a grown adult as if I were teaching a golden retriever how to do long division. the dog would have probably gotten closer to the answer.

We’ve all been there. You meet someone, and you’re convinced they’re your “person.” You see potential where there’s actually just… a void. For a long time, I thought I was in a relationship with a human being. Turns out, I was basically dating a high-end cardboard cutout.

I was doing enough “relating” for both of us. I’d bring the warmth, the empathy, the deep conversations, and the emotional intelligence. They’d bring… well, they’d bring their phone to the dinner table and occasionally grunt in my general direction.

I used to tell myself, “They’re just guarded,” or “They show love differently.” Looking back, “differently” was doing a lot of heavy lifting. It’s funny how we can convince ourselves that disregard is actually just a “mysterious personality trait.”

Tip: If you have to give someone a PowerPoint presentation on why they should care about your feelings, they aren’t “guarded.” They’re empty.

The real kicker—the part that actually makes your chest ache—is the realization that there was never any “there” there. You realize you weren’t just ignored; you were unseen.

It’s like trying to get water from a decorative fountain that isn’t actually hooked up to the plumbing. It looks nice from a distance, it fits the aesthetic of your life, but the moment you’re actually thirsty? You’re just standing there staring at a dry concrete statue.

I spent so much time trying to “meet them where they stood.” The problem was, where they stood was a barren wasteland of emotional unavailability. I was packing a picnic for two and showing up to a desert.

Now, I can laugh about it (mostly because if I don’t laugh, I’ll spend $40 on emotional support houseplants I’ll eventually kill).

There is something objectively hilarious about the effort we put into people who give us absolutely nothing. I’ve spent more time analyzing a “k” text than some people spend on their taxes. I’ve interpreted “I forgot to call” as “They are clearly going through a deeply complex internal struggle regarding their childhood” instead of the reality: “They just didn’t feel like it.”

We are so committed to the illusion that we become the directors, producers, and lead actors in a rom-com that the other person isn’t even aware is filming.

The truth is painful: you can’t love someone into having a soul. You can’t empathy-coach someone into being a partner. Some people simply lack the “hardware” to run the “Love 2.0” software.

But here’s the silver lining: once you realize the relationship was built on an illusion, you finally get to stop working so hard. You can take all that warmth, all that capacity for love, and all that empathy, and give it back to the person who actually deserves it—you.

I’m done trying to find water in a dry well. I’m looking for a lake. Or at least someone who knows how to use a faucet.

Does this sound like anyone else’s “learning curve,” or am I just the lead researcher in this field? Drop a comment and tell me the most “illusionary” thing you ever convinced yourself was real. We can compare notes and laugh-cry together.