It’s a strange kind of heartbreak, realising you finally have the relationship you prayed for, but still feeling like something inside you is quietly slipping away.
You're not fighting. You’re not alone. You’re not unloved. And yet; you’re not fully you anymore.
It’s the kind of disconnection that doesn’t come with big arguments or betrayals. Instead, it shows up in the small moments: a hesitation in your voice, a retreat into silence, a deep longing for space you’re not sure you’re allowed to take.
And the hardest part?
You’ve already done the work. You’ve healed. You’ve fought to rebuild your identity. So how did you end up here again, feeling lost in something that was meant to be good?
That’s the place I found myself in. And if you’re there too, this blog is for you.
Years ago, I walked away from a long and difficult marriage that cost me pieces of myself I didn’t know I had given up. What followed was nearly a decade of rebuilding. I took time. I healed deeply. I discovered who I was when I wasn’t trying to survive.
So when I stepped into a new relationship years later, I thought I was ready — not just to love again, but to love well.
I brought with me five non-negotiables. Things I had fought too hard for and knew I could never compromise again:
And yet; even with all of that, I still found myself quietly fading.
Not at once. But over time.
There was no obvious crisis. There was no warning sign, just a slow build-up of unmet expectations, internal conflict, and the emotional friction that comes when two people with different ways try to become one.
I expected things, things I believed were promised, prayed for, and even confirmed. When they didn’t come to pass, disappointment crept in.
And in that space, I began to feel disconnected, not just from the relationship, but from me.
I noticed the signs:
These weren’t just side effects. They were red flags. They were whispers from deep within, reminding me: You’re losing the ground you worked so hard to reclaim.
There came a moment when I had to stop and ask myself some deeply uncomfortable questions:
The answers were sobering.
And so I made some decisions.
I chose to keep speaking honestly, even when my words were direct and might be painful to hear. Because I also knew that if I stopped talking, we’d lose everything.
At the same time, I began to see that the promises I had carried into this relationship were not gone, they were unfolding slowly. I needed to trust the process. And part of that trust meant letting go of the chaos caused by unchecked expectations.
So I started managing those expectations. I chose to stop taking responsibility for someone else’s emotional responses. I decided to trust again, but not blindly.
This wasn’t easy. But it was necessary.
Because real intimacy doesn’t grow in the absence of boundaries, it grows in the presence of truth.
We’re often taught that love means sacrifice. That connection means compromise.
But here’s what no one tells you:
You can’t truly reconnect with someone else if it costs you yourself.
Emotional intimacy that asks you to disappear isn’t intimacy, it’s survival.
And you weren’t made to survive love. You were made to live in it.
For me, reconnection began when I allowed myself to take space and stopped feeling guilty about it.
It looked like holding onto my truth, even when it was uncomfortable.
It looked like choosing moments of vulnerability without losing emotional safety.
It looked like rebuilding from the inside out.
Let me say something clearly here:
Sometimes, when we lose ourselves in a relationship, the most loving, healing thing we can do is leave.
I’ve done that before. I know that road. And I honour it deeply.
But other times, when there is mutual care, safety, and a willingness to grow, it’s worth staying.
It’s worth pausing. Breathing. Rebuilding.
And that rebuilding starts inside.
You can reconnect with another person only when you’re anchored in yourself.
Otherwise, you’re just handing over pieces of you in the hope that it will earn closeness.
Closeness built on self-abandonment doesn’t last.
It crumbles under the weight of what you didn’t say and what you didn’t protect.
Reconnection wasn't fireworks or big romantic gestures.
Was it perfect? No.
But it was honest. Safe. True.
And that’s where real intimacy starts.
Reconnection isn’t a single moment. It’s a daily choice.
And it’s not just about becoming close again, it’s about becoming whole again.
You don’t have to lose yourself to love someone.
You don’t have to sacrifice your healing to keep peace.
Reconnection is possible; not by shrinking or silencing yourself, but by becoming more of who you truly are.
And if the relationship is healthy and grounded enough to hold that truth the intimacy that follows is deeper than anything built on performance.
Cheering for you always.
Talk again soon
Belinda Basson
P.S. If this resonated with you, I invite you to sign up for my newsletter for more stories, tips, and inspiration. Don’t let the world define you. Let’s ReDefine together.