Have you ever felt like you were carrying the emotional weight of your relationship on your own?
Like if you just stayed strong enough, covered enough, cared enough, maybe everything would hold together?
I’ve been there.
In my first marriage, I thought love meant carrying everything. His emotions. His image. His struggles. I covered for him, not just toward my children, friends, and the world, but even toward myself.
From the outside, we looked like we had it all together.
People were genuinely shocked when I said I wanted to divorce. They couldn’t believe it.
But they didn’t see the exhaustion behind my eyes, the slow drain of holding something together that was never mine to carry alone.
Eventually, I stopped carrying him, not out of anger, but out of survival.
I began working on myself.
I slowly rediscovered my identity, my boundaries, and my voice.
And it was in that space that I began to understand a painful but powerful truth:
You cannot be whole for someone else. And no one can be whole for you.
We’ve all heard the phrase: “You complete me.” It sounds romantic. Like the missing puzzle piece finally found.
But when we believe that someone else is meant to complete us, we place a burden on the relationship that it was never meant to carry.
We outsource our joy, our peace, and even our identity.
And slowly, often without realising it, we lose touch with ourselves.
Wholeness isn’t something another person can give you.
It’s something you discover and build within yourself.
To me, being whole doesn’t mean being perfect.
It means knowing and understanding yourself—the good, the bad, and the not-so-pretty.
It’s being okay with who you are, while still being willing to grow.
It means owning your story, managing your strengths, and working on the parts of yourself that need healing.
Wholeness looks like this:
It’s not flashy. It’s not loud. But it’s powerful.
One of the hardest lessons I learned in my first marriage was this:
When you carry someone else emotionally, they never learn to carry themselves.
By covering for him, I unintentionally robbed him of the opportunity to grow. And when I stopped, he didn’t know how to take responsibility.
He began blame-shifting and accusing me of no longer loving him because, for years, love had looked like self-sacrifice instead of a healthy partnership.
Trying to fix someone else is not love.
Supporting their growth is.
But their healing? That’s their journey, not yours.
In my second marriage, things are different, not because we’re perfect, but because we’re both doing the work.
We’ve learned that the real power of a relationship comes not from rescuing each other, but from standing beside one another as a whole, growing people.
When each person is responsible for their own wellness, the relationship becomes a space of grace, truth, and deep connection, not emotional co-dependence.
Wholeness creates safety.
Wholeness creates intimacy.
Wholeness creates growth.
Maybe you were never meant to carry someone else’s load.
Maybe God never asked you to hold what He didn’t place in your hands.
Sometimes, choosing wholeness isn’t just about healing yourself. It’s an act of trust.
A decision to let go and let Him work in the places you cannot.
You don’t need to wait for someone else to change before you begin your own transformation.
Wholeness is yours to claim—and when you do, everything shifts.
When you stop outsourcing your worth, you start rewriting the story of your relationship.
Wholeness begins when you stop searching outside yourself for what can only be found within.
Talk again soon,
Belinda Basson
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