Id never even heard of the chair theory when I was with him. Back then, I just felt tired all the time, but not in a physical wayemotionally drained. Every morning, I woke up with this feeling that I had to earn my spot, like love was some kind of daily evaluation.
And honestly, it was like that from day one. When we started going out, I was always the one rearranging my schedule so we could meet up. Id cancel plans with friends, swap shifts at work, dash around town just to see him. He always had something more importantfootball, mates, his job, or just wanting to relax. Even when we finally saw each other, half the time hed be glued to his phone, replying to texts or watching funny videos. Id try to talk to him and all Id get was a half-hearted, Hmm, without him even looking up.
When we moved in together, I thought sharing a home might bring us closer. It did the opposite. Id wake up early, go to work, and come back to cook, do the laundry, tidy up. Hed come home, sit down, ask what there was for dinner and then go off to his room to take a break. If I asked for help, hed say he was too tired. Later. That later almost never happened.
I remember one night especially. I was really ill, fever and everything. I asked him to make me some soup. He looked at me and said, Cant you just order some? So I dragged myself up, shivering, made soup for myself and cried as I stirred the pot. For the first time, I felt like a guest in my own home.
It was the same with his family gatherings. Id bring food, help out, serve, wash up. No one ever asked if I was okay, or if I needed anything. He never said, Sit with me, or, Come, stay here. I was always busy, moving, invisible. One of his aunts even said, Isnt it handy shes so helpful? Everyone had a laugh. I smiled, but inside, I felt used.
What really stung were the days that mattered to me. On my birthday, hed always say, Well celebrate another time. That other time practically never came. But if it was his mates birthday, suddenly there was time, money, energy. Id be the one carrying presents, taking photos, clapping along for someone elses moment.
The clearest memory is this one dinner with friends. We walked in, he nabbed a seat at the big table, laughing and chatting away. I sat off to the side, by the wall, nobody included me. I just watched as plates went around and everyone laughed and traded glances, and felt exactly thatI was sitting at a table where my presence didnt matter.
When we got home, crying, I told him I felt invisible. He just said, Youre always blowing things out of proportion. Always causing drama. That was when I realised my pain didnt even have a place there.
After we broke up, a friend explained the chair theory to me. She said something that stuck with me: When someone loves you, they dont make you wait. They make room for you, without you having to ask. I started replaying my relationship in my mind like a filmall the times I wanted attention, waited for a text, kept quiet to avoid being a bother.
I realised Id spent years standingbalancing emotionally, trying not to get in the way, trying to be enough. And it wasnt just with him. It was with friends where I always listened, but nobody listened to me. With relatives who only reached out when they needed something. At jobs where I gave more than I got back.
Now Im still on my own, but I dont feel small anymore. These days, when I walk into a room, I notice. If theres no space, I leave. If I have to ask for attention, I step back. If just being me makes things awkward, I dont stick around.
Because I finally got it, even if it took a while: I wasnt born to beg for a chair. I deserve a table where Im wanted.
