I’m FINALLY getting around to reading Julie Klausner’s genius book, I Don’t Care About Your Band, after having it near the top of my to-read list for (literally) years.
This bit in the Introduction really stuck out to me because it puts a lot about my previous long-term relationship into great perspective:

“You keep trying, in the nature of optimism; in the nature of believing in humanity, like Carol King told our moms to do. And when you cry about things not working out, you’re crying not only because a guy you slept with now doesn’t seem to care you’re alive for some reason that’s beyond everything you’ve been told by teachers, parents, friends and everybody else who knows how awesome you are—who helped make you that way—but also, because you’re ashamed of yourself for crying.
It’s part of the female disposition to take the blame for failed things. We’re not as entitled as men, even fictional ones, like Will Hunting, who only needed Robin Williams to scream ‘It’s not your fault!’ to board the self-esteem bus after breaking down. Meanwhile, when we get hurt, we’re ashamed right away. You stop confiding in people when they ask why you’re upset, because you don’t want to enter a debate on a side you can’t defend.”

I wish this woman would have broken into my house when I was 18, grabbed me by the shoulders and said exactly this to me. Perhaps it would have seeped into my irrational young brain and made some sort of sense, and I wouldn’t have kept trying to fix a broken relationship over and over again to prove to myself that I didn’t “ruin” it.

Ahhh hindsight.