I Could Never Make You Happy, Darling

Where there is a beginning, there is always hope. That intoxicating, flickering feeling that makes everything seem possible, which makes the weight of the world light. It is in those first few days when everything seems different-the first time any of this has worked out right-when, as a matter of fact, the author meets her. After all, love had been elusive beforehand; so many times in the past, things fell apart, but this time, he thought, this time would be different.

There was something magical right from the very start. She was different from anyone he had ever met before. There was an energy about her, some sense of purpose and confidence that drew him in. He likes strong, independent, passionate people. Being with her made him alive, made him feel that perhaps he had found a partner who could understand him and with whom he didn’t feel incomplete or misunderstood. She was everything he thought he wanted in a partner, and he was ready to give his all to make the relationship work.

Everything was so effortless in the beginning. They laughed together, shared stories of times past, and planned for a bright future ahead. He would find himself daydreaming about their life together-imaging all the places they would go and the memories they would make. He believed in their love, and he believed in her.

But what he had never surmised in those days of hope was that the very base they were constructing their relation on was fragile; it would soon show cracks.

In the early days of the relationship, he did all he could to please her, to show he cared. He wanted to be that supportive partner she so often needed: always there, understanding, ready to lend an ear. In his mind, if he loved her enough, gave enough, everything would work out.

He tried so hard. He planned romantic evenings, thoughtful surprises, and listened intently whenever she spoke, hoping to prove how much he valued her. She wanted something; he made it happen. A certain restaurant? The table was booked. A weekend getaway? He found the perfect destination. He believed by doing these things, by showing up for her in all the ways he could, their love would grow.

But slowly, he began to notice something that really unsettled him: no matter how much he did, no matter how much effort he put in, it never seemed enough for her. First, it was almost imperceptible:. She’d smile and say “thank you” after some gesture of kindness, but often there was a look in her eyes, some species of quiet disappointment that told him things weren’t quite right. He tried to brush it off, telling himself he was overthinking things, but the feeling didn’t go away.

Time passed, and the demands mounted. She’d always want a little more from him-more attention, more commitment, more sacrifices. She did have in her head what exactly her life should look like, and he was supposed to fit into that picture without any questions. Every time he did something for her, she appreciated it then and there, but in a little while, she wanted more-something greater. It was as though her happiness danced always just out of reach, and he was forever in its pursuit for her, trying to catch it for her, trying to be the man she wanted him to be.

He began to feel caged in. There was no room for his needs, no space for his desires. It was all about her, about what she wanted, and the moment he felt the slightest doubt and uttered this dreaded word “no,” it would alienate her. He saw it in her eyes, heard it in her voice, and that hurt him a lot.

One stuck out in his mind, early on. A little thing, but one that seemed to stick with him. They were going to spend a quiet night together at home, just the two of them. He had cooked dinner, put out candles, and was looking forward to a simple, intimate night. But then, halfway through the evening, she spoke her mind and said that she wanted to go out instead. She had been told of something going on in town and had changed her mind about not wanting to go out after all.

He demurred. He was tired from a long week at work, having looked forward to a quiet night. He mildly told her to stick to the original plan, that they enjoy the evening at home. But he heard that word “no” slip from his lips, he saw that change in expression: her smile faded, her eyes narrowed slightly, and she crossed her arms, leaning back in her chair. “I thought you’d want to make me happy,” she said; her voice was cool, detached.

Those words hit him like a gut punch. He’d been trying to make her happy, every single day in every way he knew how. But in that moment, it was plain: his efforts didn’t matter unless they coincided with what she wanted when she wanted it. He was crushed, defeated. He relented, of course—he always did. They went out that night, but it didn’t matter; the evening for him was ruined. He gave in, not because he wanted to, but just because he couldn’t bear the weight of her disappointment.

These moments began to multiply as the relationship continued: every time he would say “no,” every time he was trying to stand up for himself or his needs or preferences, she would react with disappointment at best, sometimes even with anger. The need for compromise was something that did not exist anymore. In her eyes, love meant doing everything she wanted-no questions asked. And if he falls short of her expectations-it was his fault. He wasn’t loving her the way she needed to be loved, she would say. He wasn’t trying hard enough.

It tore him apart. He was in love with her, really in love with her, and he did want to see her happy. At the same time, however, he knew that something wasn’t right. A relationship shouldn’t feel this way-it shouldn’t feel like some sort of test, some kind of race toward goals that are impossible to attain. He felt himself getting lost, little by little, as he contorted and twisted to meet her every whim.

What had started as hope and excitement had now slowly turned into some sort of emotional exhaustion. He had been feeling drained, depleted, but he couldn’t bring himself to walk away. He kept telling himself that things would get better, that if he just tried a little harder she would be finally happy, and then they could both be happy together.

But deep inside, he knew that was a lie. No amount of giving could ever be enough.

Equally painful to him in the relationship was how she made him feel guilty for having his own wants and needs. She would always make him feel selfish when he wanted to do something for himself, be it spending time with his friends, doing some hobby, or even just resting for a while: “If you really love me, you’d want to be with me all the time,” or “I don’t understand why you can’t just do this one thing for me.”.

He would always catch himself apologizing and for things he had done nothing wrong about: he was sorry to need space, to want some time to himself, to say “no” when he could not give more. The guilt weighed heavily upon him; paining him to see her so disappointed, he was slowly starting to realize that her happiness was not supposed to be at his expense.

In those early days, when there was still hope, he had thought love was about sacrifice. Compromise, he had always heard; sometimes you just have to put the other guy’s needs before your own in relationships. But what he felt wasn’t compromise; it was control-control in a one-sided way that expected him to give and give while she takes and gives nothing in return.

The hope that had been in his heart was dwindling fast. He started seeing the relationship for what it actually was-a continuous circle of disappointment, guilt feelings, and unfulfilled expectations. And yet, he could not get himself to leave. He loved her, or better still, he loved the idea of what their relationship could be. The reality, however, was quite different-a lot darker than he had foreseen.

He could only look back at those early days when he had much hope and belief that this love might indeed be different, and felt deep sadness. Where had things gone so wrong? How did something once so promising become a source of so much pain?

He had no answers yet. All he knew was that there had been a glimmer of hope at the beginning, which now, standing on the verge of a disintegrating relationship, was but a distant memory.

As he contemplated now in this chapter of his life, the love that once seemed so complete unraveled so gradually. He had continuously tried to make her happy, which was never enough, and now, as the truth hit him so brutally, it remained a doubt whether he had ever stood any chance at all.

There had been hope, at first. But hope, he knew now, would only take a man so far.