You're lying in bed wondering why he seems more excited about Sunday football than Sunday morning with you. So you pull back. You stop initiating.
You wait for him to notice and step up.

When he doesn't, you tell your friends he's just not romantic anymore.
Maybe you should be more chill about it. Maybe you're being too needy.

But the distance feels unbearable. What if he's losing interest?
What if he's already checked out? The fear hits like a panic attack, so you swing the other way—extra affectionate, extra accommodating, planning date nights
and buying his favorite snacks.

When he takes it all for granted, the rage surprises you.
You snap over something small—the dishes, his tone, the way he's scrolling his phone.
You say things you don't mean. The fight gets ugly.

Then comes the shame spiral. You apologize. You explain.
You promise to be better, less emotional, more understanding.
You swear you'll handle things differently next time.

But the resentment sits in your chest like a stone.
And you’re fucking tired of it.

And this same exhausting pattern is bleeding into your work.
Saying yes to every client request. Working late because disappointing people feels unbearable. Coming home so depleted there's nothing left for him anyway.

You're giving yourself away everywhere - and wondering why you feel so empty.