In 2022, someone I had once cared for deeply made a public Facebook post about me that was unfair and untrue. She claimed I spread rumours about her being romantically interested in me, which she denied, and called me a bully. The post blended personal details with half-truths and misrepresentations in a way that painted me as a villain. In this blog post, I am reclaiming my truth and shedding light on neurodivergence, relationships, and self-love.
After she made this public Facebook post, many people chose to believe her side of the story without ever asking me for mine. That hurt deeply, but what hurt the most was that this was someone who had once told me I could always trust her, that she loved me unconditionally, and that our relationship would always be safe.
As someone who is autistic and hasn’t often known emotional safety, I believed her. And then, to experience betrayal from the one person who felt like a refuge and who I thought truly loved and understood me was soul-crushing.
It’s taken me a long time to find the courage to speak openly about this. But I’m ready now. I know my intentions have always been good, and I will not let anyone’s distorted version of events define who I am.
At the beginning of 2017, this person and I formed a close bond. I was navigating the hardest chapter of my life: grieving the loss of my third child, my grandmother, my rainbow baby, and my marriage. I was raw and deeply vulnerable when she appeared, showing up in my life like sunshine after a storm.
For many months, we exchanged multiple messages throughout the day, spent hours on the phone sharing our lives, and revealed parts of ourselves we didn’t share with many others. As my feelings for her grew, I let her know. At first, she was hesitant, but then she shared that she was polyamorous and that she also had deeper feelings for me.
We entered a romantic relationship in the spring of 2017. However, it didn’t last very long. My rejection-sensitive dysphoria (RSD) created strain between us; it triggered her, and then she told me she realized she needed time to heal from her childhood wounds related to women. She wanted to transition our relationship back to friendship while she worked through her past. She made it clear that once she was healed, she would be ready to return to a romantic relationship with me. I wasn’t happy about this, but I loved her deeply and wanted to support her through what was best for her.
I tried to honour her wishes, but going back to “just friends” was harder than I ever imagined. It felt emotionally complicated after everything we’d shared, and I struggled with the uncertainty of how long her healing might take. When she sent me love songs or talked about our future together, I couldn’t help but feel like she was sending mixed signals. It left me confused and distressed.
However, whenever I visited her, whether accompanied by my children or alone, it was always a magical experience. There was a sweetness between us, a gentle flirtation that made our time together feel warm, caring, and special. When I slept over, it was hard for us to go to bed because we just wanted to keep talking. Then, in the morning, we’d wake up early, excited to spend more time together again. But all along, I couldn’t shake the nagging feeling of whether she was telling the truth that she truly loved me and just needed more time to heal, or if she was saying that so I would continue a very close friendship with her.
Our connection made me feel seen, heard, and loved in a way I’d never experienced before. But it also left me feeling sad, confused, and emotionally preoccupied. It became harder and harder for me to stay present and healthy enough to raise my two young children. Because of this, I tried many times to end our relationship, but every time I pulled away, even though she knew I was deeply struggling with our situation, she’d encourage me to stay close to her. Looking back now, I can see she probably knew that it wasn’t fair to me, but she didn’t want to let me go.
Eventually, I made the difficult decision to cut off contact. About a year later, we attempted to reconnect as friends, but the dynamic still felt unhealthy. She imposed boundaries that hurt me, like telling me I couldn’t hug her, while continuing to expect closeness on her terms.
I suggested limiting our interactions to online contact, but she also resisted this. Finally, when she asked me only to email her if I wanted to attend her homeschool events, I knew I had to step away for good. I told her I would never participate in any of her events and that I would avoid her entirely so we would never have to see each other again.
As the months went by, I noticed she was involving someone I believed to be a friend, repeatedly inviting me to events she would be attending. I declined every invitation because our dynamic was too toxic and painful for my well-being.
In 2021, I moved to another country, hoping to leave the past behind. But in 2022, I was blindsided when she made a public post distorting the truth about what had happened between us. She claimed to be still upset because I had removed her from a Facebook group six years ago, and used that incident as an excuse to slander me. But what cut deepest was her claim that I had fabricated her past romantic feelings for me. She insisted it was never true and accused me of spreading false rumours.
At the time, I chose to stay silent, not wanting to escalate the conflict. But silence carries its own weight. It allowed those who only knew her side to believe things about me that weren’t true and left me shouldering blame that was not mine to carry.
It was a painful experience – not only was she denying that she had ever loved me, but she was also publicly calling me a liar. It felt like a complete betrayal, a form of gaslighting that left me questioning my own memories and the reality of what we had shared. Carrying all of that was heavy in a way words can’t describe.
Recently, like a gift from the Universe, or as if God had shown mercy on me, I came across old messages from her; screenshots that confirmed what I’d always remembered. In them, she poured out her heart, saying she was in love with me, had sexual fantasies involving me, and dreamed about a future where we’d spend our lives together, building a homestead and gardening, along with many other tender, intimate things. Finding these messages brought me the peace and closure I had been needing. Now I knew, without a doubt, that my truth was always real and valid.
I share this not to reopen old wounds or create new ones, but to reclaim my voice and shed light on patterns I often observe in neurodivergent adults. Our deep empathy and tendency to prioritize others’ needs usually stem from a lack of self-love, which can leave us vulnerable in relationships.
We must learn to prioritize our safety, happiness, and emotional well-being. This means practicing reparenting, which means giving ourselves the love and guidance we wish someone had given us when we were growing up, and following this advice.
I no longer see this woman as an adversary. Instead, I see her as one of my most significant spiritual catalysts. Through pain and reflection, she inspired me toward deeper self-awareness and genuine self-love. For that, I honour her soul and give thanks for the role she played in my growth.
I’m deeply sorry for the ways I hurt her, and I fully forgive her. I sincerely wish her a blessed life. I am reclaiming my truth and sharing how the interplay of neurodivergence, relationships, and self-love can impact our lives. The blame she tried to place on me has been removed, and I’m moving forward with peace in my heart and my truth intact.
