Yes, I Miss Him — Even After the Betrayal. But This Is What I Remember Now

 

Yes, I missed him.
Even after everything he did.
Even after the lies, the abandonment, the gaslighting.

And maybe that’s the most human thing about this whole story.
Not the betrayal.
Not the deception.
But the aching part of me that still missed someone who hurt me.

It feels shameful to admit — especially as a woman who is strong, self-aware, educated, and emotionally literate. But here I am, speaking honestly:
I missed him. And for a while, that felt like a kind of madness.

The Illusion He Built — and I Believed

He told me he was in love with me.
He said we had a future.
He painted pictures of a shared life, of travel, of trust, of healing together. He whispered dreams into my ears, slowly, consistently, as if building a home in my mind.

And I believed him.
Not because I was naive.
But because I was ready to love for real. Because I had done my work. I was willing to show up fully. To do long-distance. To fly across countries. To be present even in the hardest situations. And I did.

I flew over 8,000 kilometers to be with him.
To finally meet the man who told me I was “his peace,” “his mirror,” “his future.”
I landed in Uzbekistan with hope in my chest and trust in my hands.

And within 15 hours, it all fell apart.

He abandoned me.
Emotionally first, and then physically.
There was no warmth. No presence. No care.

A man who worked in diplomacy, advocacy, and human rights left me — a woman who had done nothing but love him — completely alone in a foreign country.
No closure. No explanation. Just detachment and withdrawal.

And yes, that broke something inside me.

He Works for “The Greater Good.” But What About Personal Ethics?

Joel Runnels, PhD — a name respected in circles of policy, disability advocacy, and diplomacy.
A two-time Fulbright scholar. A professional associated with human rights and education access.

And yet in private, he behaved in a way that was cold, avoidant, manipulative, and emotionally cruel.

There is a massive gap between how he shows up publicly and who he is in intimate relationships.
This wasn’t just immaturity. This was emotional irresponsibility at the cost of someone else’s mental health.

How can someone say they are committed to justice for marginalized groups — and simultaneously abandon a woman they claimed to love, in a country where she knew no one, with no thought to her well-being?

Is that what advocacy looks like behind closed doors?

Because if you speak about rights, inclusion, and humanity in front of a camera, but cannot even handle an honest conversation or take accountability in your personal relationships, then your advocacy is a mask. Not a mission.

The Aftermath: It Wasn’t Just Heartbreak. It Was Psychological Damage.

I didn’t just cry.
I lost sleep for weeks.
I couldn’t concentrate at work.
My sense of safety collapsed.
I questioned my reality daily — wondering if I was crazy for feeling what I felt, or remembering things differently than they happened.

Gaslighting doesn’t just confuse your thoughts — it distorts your memory, your instincts, your very relationship with truth.

And even in all of this, I missed him.

I missed his voice.
I missed the man I thought I knew.
I missed the version of him who made me laugh and promised emotional safety.

But over time, I realized… I wasn’t missing him.
I was missing the illusion he allowed me to build.
The fantasy of a secure love, when the reality was full of red flags I tried to justify because I wanted to believe.

Women Don’t Just Leave Bad Relationships. They Leave the Version of Themselves Who Settled for Less.

When people say, “Why didn’t you just walk away?”
They don’t understand what happens when love is weaponized against you.

We don’t stay because we’re weak.
We stay because we believe.
Because we were taught that love means compromise, and that if someone is struggling (especially someone in a “noble” profession), we should be patient, empathetic, forgiving.

I did everything women are told to do to be “worthy” of love.
And I still ended up alone, broken, and abandoned.

So no — it’s not just about a failed relationship.
It’s about what happens when you give the deepest parts of yourself to someone who doesn’t even know how to hold their own truth.

The Pain of Missing Him Was Real — But So Was the Power of Remembering.

The most dangerous part of betrayal is not the ending.
It’s the silence that comes after.
The questions. The spiraling. The doubt.

• Did I imagine it all?
• Was he ever real?
• Why am I the only one hurting when he’s out there living like nothing happened?

These questions haunted me every day.
Until I started writing.
Until I started saying the truth out loud.
Until I realized: he doesn’t need to acknowledge the damage for it to be real.

I coped by:

• Journaling everything raw and unfiltered.
• Turning pain into poetry.
• Talking to women who went through similar relationships with high-functioning, emotionally absent men.
• Reclaiming my mornings, my body, my breath.
• Blocking him not out of hate — but to stop bleeding into silence.

To Joel, and Men Like Him:

You said you loved me.
Then you disappeared without care and lied many times.
You used the language of regrouping but avoided every moment that required it.

You are not a villain. But you are irresponsible with other people’s hearts.
And until you can admit the way you harm women emotionally while performing ethical values professionally, your legacy will always have a shadow.

I don’t hate you. I don’t even need revenge.

But I will never be silent about what happened.

To the Women Reading This:

If you loved someone who betrayed you,
If you stayed too long, gave too much, or broke your own rules to keep someone else comfortable —
I see you.

Your softness was not foolish.
Your devotion was not wasted.
Your healing may be slow, but it is yours.

And if you still miss them sometimes —
That’s not weakness. That’s proof you’re human.

But what you do with that grief? That’s where your power begins.

I’m Not Just Surviving. I’m Reclaiming.

This pain is still in my body.
Some nights I still can’t sleep.
Some days I still wonder what closure could have looked like.

But slowly, I’m building my life again.
Brick by brick.
Boundary by boundary.
Dream by dream.

And one day, when love returns — as it will —
It will not be built on illusion, ego, or emotional escape.

It will be safe, sacred, and steady.

Because I now know:
Missing someone is human.
But staying in self-abandonment is a choice I’ll never make again.

If you’re healing from betrayal and want to share your story, speak your truth. Not for revenge. But to remember who you are — beyond the ache.

You’re not alone.

And neither am I.