Filling the Gaps

October 16, 2025

I included this line in one of my recent essays:

“Look how well I love the unloving.”

I just reread it and had to pause—

wondering if I was being dramatic for effect,

or generalizing someone’s behavior to make a point.

And then I remembered a conscious decision I made at the end of last summer.

By that point, there was already a mountain of painful experiences and shattered trust between us—

pebbled with quality time, acts of service, vulnerable conversations, dinners with my kids, gifts, a 107 mile trek,

and meaningful physical intimacy.

We had barely seen each other for weeks,

and when he changed plans on me again—

something in me broke.

I was so tired.

Tired of feeling small.

Tired of feeling unchosen, unimportant, and unloved.

I took a day or two to process everything.

To figure out what to do.

I hiked, I felt the heavy, I thought of the good, and I cried.

And I told my son, “Please never treat a woman like he treats me.”

Saying it out loud to him made me hear it myself,

but I wasn’t ready to leave.

The pull of him made me think:

I loved loving him.

But I didn’t like how he loved me.

I believe he felt love for me.

But loving someone and being willing to treat them with

respect, honesty, and care are not the same thing. And they were missing.

But I loved loving him.

It sounds simple, but it wasn’t.

Because loving him gave me purpose.

It made me feel alive and wanted, sometimes—

and I hadn’t before had anyone I wanted to love so thoroughly.

I loved his intelligence, his presence, his energy, him.

And I thought, through my care, I could soften something unreachable in him.

And if I tried harder, he would change.

And even when he hurt me, I kept loving.

Through inconsistency,

through obvious lack of consideration,

through empty promises

and stories I suspected were lies

but chose to believe anyway.

I poured love into the gaps,

trying to fill what he would not.

I loved loving him.

The giving.

The soothing.

The devotion.

The fleeting moments of affection before the next inconsistency.

And maybe that’s what that line really means.

“Look how well I love the unloving.”

It isn’t self-pity.

It’s a mirror—

showing me how deeply I equated love with effort,

with lack of true reciprocity,

with choosing to stay with someone based on hope and loyalty

at the expense of myself.

I love that I love deeply.

Now I have a better idea of who to share it with—

and what is truly worthy of me.