I hadnt heard about the chair theory while I was with him. Back then, I just felt exhausted. Not physicallyemotionally. Every morning, I woke up with the nagging idea that I had to earn my place. That love was some sort of daily exam you could fail.
It had been that way right from the start. When we were dating, I was the one who rearranged my calendar to see him. I cancelled plans with friends, swapped shifts at work, dashed from place to place. He always had something more important: football, mates, work, a nap. And when we did finally meet up, he was glued to his phonereplying to messages, watching videos. Id be talking, and hed just mumble, Yeah, without looking up.
When we moved in together, I had naïvely hoped sharing a flat might bring us closer. It did the opposite, really. I was up early, working, coming home to cook, do laundry, tidy up. Hed stroll in, ask what was for tea, then disappear into his room to rest. If I asked for help, hed say he was tired. Later. That later almost never arrived.
I remember one particular evening. I was ill, running a temperature. I asked him to make me some soup. He looked at me and said,
Cant you just order it?
So, shivering, I got up, made my own soup, and cried into the saucepan. That was the first time I genuinely felt like a guest in my own home.
It was the same with his family. At their get-togethers, Id bring food, help out, serve, wash dishes. No one asked how I was or if I needed anything. And he never once said:
Sit with me.
Come here, stay.
I was forever rushing about, invisible. One of his aunts once commented,
Well, isnt it handy shes so helpful.
Everyone laughed. I smiled too, but inside, it felt like being used.
It stung most on the days that mattered to me. On my birthday, hed say wed celebrate another time. That another time rarely came. But for his friends birthdays, there was time, money, energy. I was always in the backgroundcarrying gifts, taking photos, applauding other peoples moments.
My clearest memory is of a dinner with friends. We walked in, he sat at the big table, started chatting and laughing. I ended up stuck on a lone chair near the wall, not included in their conversation. I watched plates pass around, the jokes, the exchanged glances, and felt exactly that: that I was at a table that didnt really care whether I was there.
When we got home, I told himcryingthat I felt invisible. He replied:
Youre exaggerating everything. Always making drama.
And thats when I realisedeven my pain didnt have a seat.
After we broke up, a friend told me about the chair theory. She said something that stuck:
When someone loves you, they dont leave you waiting. They make room for youno need to ask.
I began replaying my relationship like a film. All those times Id wanted attention. All those times Id waited for a text. All those times Id kept quiet, so I wouldnt cause a fuss.
I realised Id spent years standing up. Balancing emotionally. Trying not to be a bother. Trying to be enough.
It wasnt just him. It was friendships where I listened, but no one listened to me. Family who called only when they needed a favour. Jobs where I gave more than I ever got back.
Im still single, but now I dont feel small.
These days, when I walk into a room, I check the vibe. If theres no space, I leave. If I have to plead for attention, I step right back. If my existence feels awkward or inconvenient, I dont stick around.
Because I finally understood, a bit late but I got there:
I wasnt put on this earth to beg for a chair.
I deserve a table where being me is actually wanted.
