Words by Andy Reyes // photograph by Jonatán Becerra
For a long time, I thought taking care of myself meant doing things that felt good in the moment—texting someone back even when I knew they weren’t good for me, holding onto relationships that left me anxious and exhausted, mistaking obsession for love. But real self-care is something else entirely. It’s about recognising when a situation is harming you and having the strength to walk away. It’s about choosing yourself, even when it hurts.
When I develop a romantic interest in someone, I tend to obsess—my way of loving is intense. Because of my borderline personality disorder, relationships often feel unstable and overwhelming. I idealise the person so much that when reality inevitably sets in, the crash is devastating, leaving me in a depressive state that can last for weeks or even months.
I met a guy—a sexy, rugged boxer who immediately caught my attention. We started talking every day, and eventually, we began “dating.” But from the start, something felt off. There were red flags: he wouldn’t hold my hand when we walked together, he didn’t want me to hug him. Deep down, I knew my feelings weren’t reciprocated, but I still desperately wanted him to love me. Sometimes, I felt like screaming, When are you going to love me?!
Our relationship was on and off—we’d stop talking, then somehow end up back together. After one argument, I thought it was truly over. I flooded his Instagram inbox with messages, begging him not to leave me. That night, I didn’t sleep, obsessing over what I had done wrong. I spent the next three days crying, until finally, he sent me a text: Have you thought about what you’ve done? It felt like I was being punished for something I didn’t understand. But at that moment, it didn’t matter. He had texted me back.
This cycle continued for two months, though it felt more like two years. I remember my therapist telling me to stop seeing him. I wanted to, I really did, but I just couldn’t. I missed him too much. So I started lying to my therapist—yes, just like in Tornado Warnings by Sabrina Carpenter.
The moment of clarity—the realisation that nothing would ever come of this—finally hit when he broke my heart. All my doubts vanished. My unanswered questions finally had a clear, honest answer: he didn’t believe in monogamy. Just as he was seeing me, he was seeing other girls. I remember crying as I sent a voice note to my best friend, finally admitting the truth.
I also came clean to my therapist. I told her I had been secretly seeing him, that I was still in contact with him, but that now I wanted to leave it all behind. She spoke to me about zero contact—how important it was to cut ties completely and be honest with myself. So I did. I deleted his number, unfollowed him on Instagram, and made a promise to myself: never again would I let someone treat me that way.
The first two weeks without him were awful. The emptiness was overwhelming. I missed him so much. But at the same time, I felt a strange sense of calm. I knew I had made the right decision. The constant crying stopped, and little by little, I returned to my daily routine.
As the weeks passed, the pain of his memory began to fade. Sometimes, I wondered if he ever thought of me. But then I remembered what my psychiatrist told me: He didn’t choose you. Your absence didn’t affect him. Having you in his life didn’t matter to him. I clung to that truth and told myself it was time to “work on myself.”
But what does that even mean? For me, it meant walking away from places I wasn’t wanted, from someone who cheated on me and dismissed my feelings. It meant holding on to my self-worth and making the choice to truly let go.
I started avoiding places where I might run into him, replacing those moments with visits to my friend. Slowly, my routine without him began to lift my mood. It wasn’t easy, but it felt like emerging from a dark cave. My mood improved, I spent more time with friends, I enrolled in college. And while I still thought about him, it was now in a more detached way. I understood that my happiness no longer depended on one person—that the flowers he never gave me could be found at the flower shop near my house, and I could buy them for myself.
Little by little, my brain started to forget him. The emotional connection weakened. The intensity faded until it disappeared altogether.
I realised I needed time for myself—time to rest from toxic relationships and stress. I know that one day, someone will come along who shares my values, who will want to experience both the good and the bad with me, and who won’t hide or feel ashamed to be with me. But until then, I’m learning that real self-care isn’t about waiting for someone else to treat me right. It’s about choosing to treat myself with the love and respect I deserve.
