Sleeping With the Enemy: A Love That Drained My Soul

There was a time I thought I had found my forever. Someone who knew my heart, held my hand through the darkness, and whispered all the right things at all the right times. I let them in fully, completely, unapologetically. I gave them the keys to my soul, trusting that they’d hold it with care. But I wasn’t loving a partner. I was sleeping with the enemy.

I’ve always spoken about the hurt my so-called friends caused the ways they used me, drained me, leaned on me while never offering the same in return. But what cuts deeper is realizing that he did the exact same. The one I believed was different. He studied my strengths the way predators study prey not in admiration, but in strategy. He saw the light I carried when I walked into a room. How people gravitated toward my spirit. How I lifted everyone around me. And instead of celebrating that, he resented it. He wanted to dim it.

He couldn’t stand my shine so he tried to shadow it.

He pretended to cheer for me, to praise my wins. He’d clap in public, but throw stones in secret. Every time I stepped into my power, he felt smaller. Instead of rising with me, he tried to pull me down. There’s a special kind of heartbreak that comes from realizing the person who said “I’m proud of you” was the same person hoping you’d fall.

The stress, the emotional warfare, the constant walking on eggshells I couldn’t breathe. So I started drinking, not to have fun, not to party, but to cope. To numb. To make sense of the mess he made in my mind. Alcohol became my escape from the pain of being misunderstood, unloved, and unprotected by someone I once believed would guard my heart.

He couldn’t stand tall next to me not because I asked too much, but because he saw me and still couldn’t value me. He looked at someone who gave endlessly, loved fearlessly, and instead of honoring that, he took advantage. He never truly saw me. Just the version of me that could serve his needs.

But here’s what I know now:

I survived. I outgrew the cage he tried to keep me in. I found strength in my scars. I now speak my truth, not with bitterness, but with power. Because sleeping with the enemy taught me how to protect my peace, how to cherish my light, and how to never shrink for someone who is uncomfortable with my shine.

You are not weak for feeling. You are not broken for believing.

You are wiser now. And no enemy disguised as a lover can ever take that away from you.