Before You Get Your Hopes Up: A Lesson in Self-Worth

Before you get your hopes up, just stop. Please. Don’t build those castles in the air, brick by painstaking brick, only for the wind to come along and remind you they were always just sand. I learned that lesson the hardest way possible. I learned that sometimes, the only thing you own completely is your own self-worth, and if you let someone else define it, you’re already lost.

I met him at a time when I thought I was strong. Independent. I’d built a life for myself, modest but mine. Then he walked in, and everything shifted. He had this way about him, this quiet confidence, an intensity in his eyes that felt like he was seeing me – truly seeing me – for the first time. I’d never felt that before. Not really. I’d always been the one who tried too hard, gave too much, constantly sought approval. With him, it felt effortless. Like I could just be.

Our relationship wasn’t a whirlwind. It was slow, steady, a gentle unfolding. He was always busy, always had commitments, but when we were together, he was entirely present. He’d listen to my mundane stories with genuine interest. He remembered the small things, the quirks I thought no one noticed. He makes me feel seen, I’d think, a quiet warmth spreading through my chest. We talked about the future, about moving in together, about what our lives would look like. He’d even talk about children, wistfully, saying how much he looked forward to having them with me. It felt like a promise. A tangible future. I started to believe in forever again. For the first time, I felt like I was enough. More than enough. I was chosen.

Fawnie Golden Smith seen in a post dated October 13, 2025 | Source: Instagram/naraaziza

I remember one night, we were on the couch, tangled up, the city lights a distant blur outside my window. He whispered, “You’re everything I’ve ever wanted.” My heart actually swelled. It ached with a happiness I hadn’t known was possible. This is it, I told myself. This is real. This is my person. All my past insecurities, all the doubts about whether I was lovable, whether I deserved true happiness, they all faded away. He made me feel powerful, cherished. Like I was finally standing on solid ground after years of treading water.

But there were always these tiny cracks. Little things I dismissed. He never had his phone unlocked around me. He was always vague about his family, just saying they lived “out of town” and were “complicated.” He’d disappear for entire weekends, coming back looking tired but strangely serene, offering no real explanation beyond “family stuff.” Don’t be needy, I’d tell myself. He trusts you. He’ll tell you when he’s ready. I rationalized every unanswered question, every vague statement, every moment of sudden distance. My self-worth was now inextricably tied to his presence, his affection. I couldn’t afford to question it too deeply, because what if the answers shattered the fragile peace I’d finally found?

Then came the day I decided to surprise him. He’d mentioned a doctor’s appointment in a neighborhood not far from my work. It was supposed to be a quick trip, just a coffee and a friendly face to brighten his day. I knew the general area. I saw his car parked on a residential street, not near the clinic. Maybe he parked further away, I thought, a tiny flicker of unease. I walked a little further, looking for him. And then I saw it. His car wasn’t just parked. It was parked in a driveway. Next to a minivan with a “Family First” bumper sticker.

My stomach dropped. I tried to tell myself it was a coincidence. A friend’s house. But then, the front door opened. And there he was. Not alone. A woman with long, dark hair, a soft smile, stood beside him. She wrapped her arm around his waist, and he leaned down and kissed her forehead. A casual, intimate gesture, the kind you only share with someone you’ve built a life with. Then a child, maybe five or six, came running out, clutching a brightly colored ball, shouting “Daddy! Play!”

DADDY.

The sound echoed in my head, obliterating everything else. My breath hitched. My world tilted. I felt like I was watching my life play out on a screen, a silent movie of a stranger’s unimaginable pain. He laughed, a genuine, joyful sound I’d only ever heard fragments of. He picked up the child, swinging him around, a picture of domestic bliss, of a life he had never, ever mentioned to me.

I stood there, frozen, hidden behind a tree, feeling the truth pierce through me like shards of ice. He wasn’t just seeing someone else. He wasn’t just cheating. He had an entire, fully-formed, beautiful family. A wife. A child. A home. And I was… what was I? The other woman? The mistress? The fool who believed his whispered promises?

I stumbled away, the shock momentarily numbing the agony. I got back to my apartment, shaking, unable to form a coherent thought. I curled up on the bathroom floor, the cold tiles a stark contrast to the burning in my chest. Everything was a lie. Every kind word, every stolen moment, every glimpse of a future we’d planned. It was all a carefully constructed facade.

The next few days blurred. I didn’t confront him. I couldn’t. The sheer magnitude of the betrayal paralyzed me. I just broke it off, a terse message, no explanation, no room for discussion. I couldn’t bear to hear his lies again. I couldn’t bear to look at the face that had whispered such beautiful untruths.

Nara Smith plays with Whimsy Lou, dated February 3, 2025 | Source: Instagram/naraaziza

But the real, soul-crushing twist, the one that broke me entirely, came weeks later. A mutual acquaintance, oblivious to my pain, mentioned him casually. “Heard he’s doing great,” she said. “His son needed some expensive medical treatment, and his wife’s been so worried. But apparently, he found a way to cover all the bills. Something about a loan, or a grant, or… no, I think he said he just needed a stable address and an ‘unquestioning’ partner for a while to secure some kind of temporary residency status or something for the family. He always said he needed a new address, a new ‘face’ for his applications, a place that wasn’t tied to his actual family. Smart guy, always finding a way.”

AN UNQUESTIONING PARTNER.

A STABLE ADDRESS.

A NEW ‘FACE’ FOR APPLICATIONS.

The words hung in the air, then slammed into me. I wasn’t just the other woman. I wasn’t just the fool. I was a resource. My home, my financial stability, my quiet trust, my very presence had been used. My dreams, my hopes, my love – they weren’t reciprocated; they were exploited. He didn’t want me; he needed what I represented for a specific, calculated purpose related to his real life. All those moments of connection, all the shared vulnerability, all the promises of a future together… it was all a meticulously crafted performance designed to make me the perfect, unwitting pawn.

Nara Smith feeds one of her children, dated May 14, 2023 | Source: Instagram/naraaziza

My entire relationship, my entire self-worth, had been built on a foundation of sand, yes, but sand that had been deliberately, cruelly, poured by someone who saw me as nothing more than a stepping stone. So, before you get your hopes up, please, for the love of yourself, make sure the ground you’re standing on is real. Because sometimes, the person you think sees you, truly sees you, is actually just looking straight through you, using your light to illuminate their own dark agenda. And that, I promise you, is a wound that never truly heals.