I Ended It, Because He Crossed One of My Non-Negotiables

It's taken me a while to write this.

I recently ended a relationship because one of my non-negotiables was crossed. It was a hard choice to make, really hard.

There was love there, real tenderness, and part of me wanted to find a way through. But I knew it wasn't something I could see us coming back from, and I knew my body no longer felt safe with him.

I want to write about this, not to tell his story, but because I think non-negotiables are some of the most important and least talked about parts of relating well, and they're sometimes used as weapons or threats. This was a real test for me, of knowing myself and knowing my real needs in relationship.

And yes, there is grace for people and their journeys.

We're all carrying conditioning, wounds and patterns we're still learning to see.

Yes, there is the practice of learning and knowing our values and aligning with them. And yes, harm happens in relationships, even loving ones, and it's almost certain to happen in open relating, and much of it can be repaired. And there are non-negotiables, my non-negotiables.

A preference is something we'd like.

A value is something we live by and grow towards.

A non-negotiable is something we cannot relate without.

It sits beneath everything else, the foundation that has to be there for the rest to stand.

I believe our non-negotiables are the root of knowing ourselves, and that the real work is having the integrity to hold them when they get rubbed up against, especially when we love the person standing on the other side of them.

My ex-partner lied to me, multiple times over the space of a few weeks.

Honesty is one of my deepest values, and I know no one lives it perfectly. But being lied to, knowingly and repeatedly, is my non-negotiable. That's the line I cannot relate across.

Some of the lies were big and some were small, and I could feel what was happening before I was ever told. I showed up again and again with the possibility to hear the truth. I tried to offer a space where honesty could feel safer than hiding, where he wouldn't need to lie. And it just didn't happen.

I can hold compassion for him in his journey. I can understand the shame and guilt underneath it, and the conditioning that teaches so many of us that truth and desire are dangerous. But I cannot control another person. I can only control myself, my choices and my environment.

I knew that leaving would feel like abandoning him, and I also knew that staying would mean abandoning me.

Honestly, it was shocking for me, I was truly stumped, and very heartbroken. I thought I had left lying and dishonesty behind me, and there it was, in one of the kindest, loveliest men I've related with.

Perhaps that's part of what this taught me. The work isn't about never meeting dishonesty again. It's about how clearly I recognise it, and how quickly I choose myself when I do.

I was angry, really angry. And underneath it all, my body had already begun to close to him. It started bracing and guarding, protecting me in the places that used to feel open and soft.

And yet I still loved him and wanted him close. It was such a struggle in the end.

I wished it wasn't so, that my body would soften again and let me stay. But when trust breaks, when it really shatters, the body often knows before the heart is ready to accept it, and mine was speaking loud and clear.

I could really see myself becoming the collateral damage in him figuring himself out, and I wasn't willing to keep paying that price. I was exhausted.

I won't relate with someone who knowingly lies to me, and I most certainly won't open relate with them. In open relating, honesty is a must for me. It's the ground everything else stands on. Without it, there is no real consent, no safety, and no real intimacy.

Also, when I relate, I'm aware of how much energy I have in my life and where it's going. Much of mine is devoted to my work, to the people I love, and to my plans of bringing a child into the world.

I believe relationships should fuel our lives and our paths rather than drain them. That doesn't mean they're always easy.

They move through turbulence, and sometimes they need more of us for a while, and that's part of loving someone. But this relationship was taking far more than I had to offer, and the trust that would have made the effort worthwhile was gone.

So I ended the relationship.

Heartbroken, but truly honest with myself, and in integrity with my values and the non-negotiables I hold.

Ending it wasn't a punishment, and it wasn't me deciding he was a bad person. It was me deciding what I can and can't live inside of.

I can wish him well on his journey and still know that I don't have to walk it beside him.

If you're unsure what your non-negotiables are, your body is often a good place to start. Notice where you tighten, where you brace, what you keep explaining away. Ask yourself what you truly cannot build a life without. And then ask the harder question, whether you're willing to hold that line when love asks you to bend it.

I know that question well.

I've bent before, and I know how disconnected I become when I do, and how much of myself I abandon to stay.

Knowing ourselves isn't only about what we want. It's about what we will no longer accept, and the quiet courage it takes to honour that, even with a broken heart.

With love,

Narla