Writing about my journey with Tom feels deeply uncomfortable—like exposing a wound that’s never quite healed. As a psychologist, I’m trained to maintain professionalism, to hold space for others without letting my own experiences spill into their stories. Sharing my personal struggles, especially one as raw and painful as this, feels like I’m stepping outside my professional role, making myself vulnerable in a way that is neither easy nor natural for me.
Yet, I believe there’s value in opening up about this experience. It’s difficult to write about how my own habits of indifference contributed to Tom’s anger, or how his departure was rooted not in a lack of love but in a survival instinct to escape a situation that felt emotionally unsafe. Admitting that is painful, but it’s also a reminder that even professionals aren’t immune to the traps of poor communication and unexpressed pain. I share this story not to lay blame or to diminish the love we shared but to shed light on how easily emotional disconnection can unfold, even for those who “should know better.”
If this story can help even one couple recognize the patterns that drive them apart and prompt them to seek understanding instead of distance, then this discomfort has a purpose. It’s a reminder that relationships require continual effort, honesty, and empathy—things that, even with years of training, can still be difficult to practice in one’s own life.
And it goes like this:
When Tom and I first met, we shared laughter, dreams, and that irresistible spark that made me believe we could weather anything. But as time went on, stress and frustration began to take their toll on us. Tom, always passionate and intense, started reacting to sadness with anger—a shield to protect himself from the pain he felt inside. I, on the other hand, withdrew when I was hurt, masking my sadness with indifference, thinking it would keep me safe. I believed that, in my silence, I was sparing us both from even more pain. In reality, I was creating a wall that grew higher every day.
I wish I’d recognized sooner how much this cycle was costing us. Tom’s anger was never about me personally, but I took it that way. It made me feel unworthy and unloved, and I responded by pulling back even further. Tom, feeling the coldness of my indifference, reacted by closing himself off emotionally. He began to view me not as a partner but as someone to survive—an obstacle to his peace. I didn’t see that his anger and frustration were cries for connection, for understanding, and perhaps even for compassion.
This toxic dance continued until one day, Tom left. Not because he no longer cared, but because staying felt like it was hurting him more than leaving. In our hearts, we still loved each other, but he chose to leave to survive emotionally. I was shattered, realizing that my indifference had slowly driven him away, and that his anger, which I’d always resented, was his way of expressing a pain I hadn’t seen or addressed.
This experience taught me that ignoring the signs of emotional distress—on both sides—is a dangerous road. I thought I was keeping us together by holding back, but in reality, I was pushing Tom away. If you’re in a similar situation, recognize that indifference and anger are both signs of hurt. See your partner’s reaction for what it is: a need for understanding, for connection, for vulnerability.
Sometimes, love means showing up with empathy, even when it’s difficult. I wish I had reached out, softened my approach, and allowed us both to be seen. In our story, love remained, but it wasn’t enough to overcome the distance we had created.