The Cost of Self-Abandonment (And How to Start Choosing Yourself Again)

My Grandmother wasn't your stereotypical Italian Nona that baked pizzales and pinched your cheeks. She didn't greet you with a warm hug when you entered her kitchen. She was too busy working to do any of that. If I'm being honest, I can't say I remember her fondly.

What sticks out most in my memory of her isn't how she interacted with me. It's the way she treated my father. By all accounts, my Dad was the Perfect Son. He honored his parents by never disobeying or talking back and excelled in school. His family barely made enough to scrape by, so my Dad took a job washing dishes in the school cafeteria in exchange for a quarter to afford lunch. He got his first job mucking stables when he was barely twelve. During World War II, my father enlisted in the Navy and rescued his uncle, who was being held as a Prisoner Of War. From there, he got not one but two degrees so he could become a teacher. Then, he was the first Italian-American elected to the School Board. Keep in mind, he did this while helping my Grandmother run the general store she and my Grandfather had built just before he died unexpectedly from a heart attack.

I can't remember when my Grandmother spoke kindly to my father. Nothing he did was good enough. While I'll be forever grateful that she taught my Dad that marriage was not a guarantee of security for a woman, I will never forget the night my Dad tumbled down the staircase in our house while rushing to my Grandmother’sGrandmother's bedroom after she awoke with a night terror during her battle with Alzheimer's. Just before she died, he sat by her bedside and asked forgiveness for moving my Grandmother into assisted living.

She shook her head no.

My father was a good man—honorable, hard-working, and generous. But when showing his affection and approval, he was a carbon copy of his mother.

Compliments from him were rare. Like solar eclipse rare. Because of that, I grew up feeling like I was always falling short, no matter what I did. So I worked overtime. I tried to earn approval, affection, and connection. I carried that right into my dating life without even realizing it. I clung to unavailable men because the drop of attention they'd give me was better than the devastation I'd feel when they ignored me.

This is called self-abandonment, and here's what it can look like in your relationships:

• Saying yes when you really want to say no

• Silencing your feelings so you don't seem "too much"

• Giving way more than you're getting back

• Ignoring those gut feelings that are screaming, this isn't okay

• Rationalizing bad behavior: he's just stressed; he's not great at communication

As women, we're taught to override our own needs and feelings for the benefit of others—usually men. We're taught that love is earned through effort, proving ourselves, being "understanding" and "patient" and bending until we break.

But let me tell you the truth: I wish someone had told me a long time ago:

Love that requires you to abandon yourself is not love at all.

I've been in situations where I could feel myself shrinking just to keep someone else comfortable. Where I downplayed my needs because I was afraid they'd see me as demanding or needy. Where I kept reaching out even when they barely lifted a finger.

I'd tell myself I was just being understanding, that the guy I was dating would come around, that they were just "busy."

No. I was abandoning myself.

And listen, I get it—sometimes it feels safer to disconnect from your needs than to face rejection, especially if you grew up believing love was conditional. But every time you do that, you chip away at your self-worth. You reinforce the story that your feelings don't matter. Making these kinds of sacrifices and ignoring our intuition causes us to gravitate toward people who take our kindness for granted and use it against us.

In tomorrow's podcast episode, we answer a listener letter from a woman caught in a cycle of self-abandonment. Make sure to tune in and join the discussion in the comments.

If this topic resonates with you, please remember:

You are not unlovable. You are not too much. You are not "hard to love."

You're just investing in people who benefit from your self-abandonment.

You can start choosing yourself today, in small ways, and it will get easier. I promise you.