Before dating my ex, I believed that love and hate were opposites. I found myself experiencing both. The hate would often stir during social gatherings, when I saw him charming my friends and winning them over the same way he’d once fooled me. I raged at their adoration of him, and how he was viewed as the best part of me.

It took me time to realise most of that anger was directed inwards. I hated myself for staying, for allowing myself to be manipulated. It became a toxic cycle, one where I’d want to go from jumping on the table and exposing him, to protecting him from the world.

Of course, as in most tales of deceit, infidelity did eventually rear its ugly head. Discovering the truth that ‘cousins’ and ‘old friends’ were in fact cover-ups for Tinder matches was painful, but not entirely shocking. It was the lies about his core beliefs and values that hurt me the most. He was a self-proclaimed animal lover, who lied about looking after my sick pet while I was away and went out clubbing instead. He preached about being a ‘nice-guy feminist’ while secretly harbouring far more conservative values.

I found these lies far darker and more dangerous than any cheating scandal. They made me question everything I believed, not just about him, but about myself. Who was I to call myself a feminist, a liberal freethinker, when I shared a bed with someone who embodied everything I stood against? It was more than personal; it was ideological, and I felt complicit and knew I needed to get out.

I wish I could say that this anger gave me the strength to walk away with dignity, but unfortunately that’s not how our story ended. Instead, my anger and pain festered, until it became the only thing I knew. I became the villain, the nagging shrew who “should just let him be who he is,” while he pushed me into a corner. Unchecked hurt can be explosive, especially when you feel trapped by a shared home, shared friends, and the fear of being alone. Who even was I without this man? I became someone I loathed.

But that didn’t mean my experience wasn’t valid, or that the pain he caused me wasn’t real. Sometimes, surviving is enough. I found freedom in my loathing and stopped playing into his need for attention. When he realised I was forcing him to confront his true self, the dynamic shifted. His power over me faded, and with it, our interest in remaining in each other’s lives.

Since then, the most important thing I’ve learned was to love myself again. I took his deceit personally for slong. I felt that if I’d been somehow better, smarter, or more loveable, things would have been different. But that’s not true. His lies reflected his own emptiness, not a measure of my own worth. True contentment comes from living and loving authentically, regardless of the dishonesty you might face.

If you feel you may in a relationship that’s showing signs of manipulation and lying, this could be a sign of emotional abuse. On the Women’s Aid website you’ll find plenty of resources to help yourself or anyone who needs it.

“I thought my boyfriend was this fun, creative genius – when in reality he was a pathological liar.”