'I broke up with the best guy over something that sounds stupid. But every woman will get it.'

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This article originally appeared on Blithe Saxon's Substack. Sign up here.

Stupid is as stupid does.

And immediately that's how I felt. Stupid.

"I don't think I can be in this relationship anymore."

Once I'd said it, I couldn't put the genie back in the bottle.

Why the f**k did I have to go and open my big f****g mouth?! I love him, he's perfect and now I can't take it back and he's probably gone forever.

The stages of grief set in almost immediately.

I'm really throwing away the best thing I've ever had with the best person I've ever known.

Watch: The dating experience women keep having. Post continues after video.

No — I wasn't on some self-sabotage rampage. Quite the opposite.

It had become increasingly clear to me that although I was deeply in love and committed, we were both faithful and honest and kind to one another — something wasn't working for me.

It probably goes without saying, but the first thing anyone should know about me is that I love hard.

I have one speed setting and that is all-consuming, be-the-father-of-my-kids level intensity.

It seemed like we were both like that at the beginning. He never promised me the world. We were never reckless with each other's hearts, but he looked in my face after knowing me for two weeks and he said "I've never felt like this. It's you. I want you."

And he meant it. He wanted me by his side whenever I could be. It was me. Always me.

Somewhere along the way, it felt like it stopped being me. I stopped being a priority. I slowly moved down his list as he moved up mine.

He still loved me and wanted me, but things were slipping.

Listen. How to have a "good fight" in a relationship. Post continues below.

It started with goodnight texts (or lack thereof).

Even at the start, we never did the all-day texting or calling thing.

It's not me and it's not him. We are phones-down-and-be-present type people. But just once or twice a day was enough. That was all. Just check in. A text or super quick call. We were in different countries a lot of the time, so it was our only way to stay connected.

The first time I noticed communication beginning to die out, I pulled him up on it and he apologised. He blamed the time difference and travelling and the fact he's never on his phone (a trait that worked in my favour when we were together, but I saw it as a small price to pay when we were apart).

I knew then. I knew then this wasn't going to end well for me if something didn't change, but I thought it was a "me thing".

I thought "this is my opportunity to learn more patience and trust and how to be more relaxed. I can be in a healthy, loving relationship and it doesn't have to consume me."

But the next time he went 24 hours without saying a single word to me, I cried myself to sleep.

Nobody is that busy. Nobody. He keeps his phone on him.

I lightly mentioned it again. No screaming, no shouting — just a light mention. He shrugged it off again. He was with friends. Having a beer. Busy.

And he promised to make more of an effort in the future.

Cut to: we're almost a year in. We're in bed and he's gone from waking up and me being the first thing he reaches for, to waking up and reaching for his phone — the one he insists he's never on when we're apart.

Oh no.

I feel invisible.

I can't make you love me more. I can't make you see me. And I can't unsee it.

I started to feel invisible. Image: Substack/@blithesaxon.

I never thought he was cheating. He wasn't. I just stopped being a priority and the further down his list I was, the more the relationship consumed me in the worst way.

Now, a missed goodnight text had me bedridden for a day because it had grown into something abhorrent — complete self-abandonment.

The act of asking my boyfriend, who I've loved for almost a year, to just acknowledge me once a day, before he goes to sleep, had become soul-destroying.

I thought of him all day, every day, and I found myself increasingly checking my phone for my daily dose of affection that never came. And on top of that, I spent our time together searching for evidence that he loves me and coming up short.

By the end, I'd sit across from him, cross-legged on the bed while he was giving his attention to his phone instead of me, wondering if he even loved me in that moment.

I have no shame and so I asked him — and he stuttered.

Oh no.

He's not a politician, but whatever answer he gave could've had me fooled. It was a politician's answer if I ever heard one.

Oh god.

He doesn't know it yet, but there was a moment that I stopped setting his world on fire and he decided that was okay and decided to keep me around anyway. It wasn't intentional. It wasn't malicious. It just was. I knew it and I felt it and I stayed for a little while longer to make sure I wasn't crazy and because I thought it was a small price to pay.

So what, he has other priorities. Other things he cares about more than me. A lot of things. More and more things. I thought that maybe this is what emotional regulation looked like. I thought that maybe that was healthy.

But it wasn't. It was costing my sanity. My entire being was being compromised.

I love him so completely. My god, it hurts. He's the kindest and most wonderful human I've ever met. I got along with his family and his friends. I love the person I am with him. I have never been happier in a relationship. Ever. Not even close. And still, I had to leave because the most integral parts of me had to be extinguished in order for me to stay.

I felt like my passion was all of a sudden too much. The more I loved, the more he was chilly and nonchalant and pretty soon it felt like I was carrying emotional weight for two and I couldn't hide it.

My mum caught it first. Then my sister and my dad and then my friends and then it was showing up in everything I wrote.

There was no chaos. No fighting. No cheating. No abuse.

In every single relationship I've ever had, my one and only regret was not leaving when I knew. I wasted so much time. I've always squeezed the life out of every single relationship and then I'd make an exit plan and slip out the back door once there was nothing left.

I couldn't do that again. Not to him. Not to myself.

So I walked away from the only relationship that I ever thrived in. It was the hardest thing I've ever done and that's how I know it will pay off.

I'm about to enter my thirties sober and now single which is f****g terrifying but the version of me I'm striving to be doesn't beg for scraps. Ever.

Wanna know how it feels to choose yourself?

F****g shit, actually. F****g horrible.

But my mum, friends and ChatGPT said it gets better and have assured me I probably won't die alone.

See you next time in the confessional.

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Feature Image: Instagram/@blithesaxon.