The Advice That Saved Me — and Almost Broke Me

In the thick of confusion, I turned to the internet looking for clarity.
I saved quotes, posts, and promises — words from strangers telling me what real love should feel like.

They spoke of consistency, protection, leadership, emotional safety. They told me to look for a man who would show up without being asked, a man who would make me feel secure and seen.

I thought I had found that man.

In fact, part of what kept me trying — and staying — was that so much of what I was reading seemed to match what I believed I had.

It wasn’t until much later that I realized: sometimes the beginning of a relationship mirrors the advice almost perfectly.

But it is the living of it — the day after day after day — where the truth slowly reveals itself.

And when you are following the wrong scent, no matter how fast you run, you only get farther from where you need to be.

I'm not trying to underplay or dismiss what might be very real for some people.
I know that for many, the advice I clung to can lead them toward something beautiful, something safe and sustaining.

But in my case, it contributed to the confusion.

It's a little like when you watch a romantic movie with someone you love — and instead of feeling mirrored, you feel a quiet ache.
You notice what’s missing.
You start holding your real, complicated relationship up to an impossible standard, and you wonder if you’re failing, or if he is.
(All the poor men out there, right?)

And at the same time, I was doubting myself.

I remember thinking, Did I choose the wrong person again?
Am I just repeating the same mistake?

It wasn't that I regretted my choices — I honestly never have.
I hold a deep belief that everything happens for a reason (as cliché as that may sound).
I believe we’re here — on this messy, beautiful, painful physical plane — to learn, to grow, to try again.
And when we don't learn what we need to the first time, life has a way of circling back — handing us the same lessons wrapped in different paper.

I wondered if that was what was happening.
Had I missed the lesson?
Was this another version of the same ache I hadn't fully healed?

I was searching so hard for answers — for some kind of sign — even as my husband, in his own way, was likely struggling too.

And that’s part of why the moment I googled "adult dyslexia," I felt like I had been punched in the gut.
Like I had seen something I couldn’t unsee.
I’m someone who listens for signs. I follow threads. I trust patterns.
But in this case — at least for a long while — I think I was following the wrong scent.