For her, it wasn’t the cheating that finally broke her. That had her wanting to leave the relationship.
Yes, it hurt. Yes, it was devastating. But she loved him, and she wanted to believe him. She clung to the denials — It never happened. It would never happen. Even when she discovered the second time, he brushed it off as a mistake, an accident. And she let herself believe it because her love for him was busy talking her brain out of the truth.
It’s easy to convince yourself that the choices your partner makes are because of faults in your ability to show up in the relationship.
If only I were around more.
If only I engaged more.
If only I loved him better.
And so you stay.
No, it wasn’t the cheating that did it for her.
It was the concert.
A “gift” he had promised would be all about her. A moment to reconnect. A way to rebuild. Instead, he ignored her. Disrespected her. Ruined what could have been a step toward healing. That was the tipping point. That’s what did it. That is what freed her to walk away
And she’s not alone.
I’ve always been curious by the way people navigate leaving their relationships. Not just why it happens — but why people respond the way they do. There’s no universal script. Some people leave immediately, some stay and try to heal together, and some stay and coast, avoiding the hard work of rebuilding.
The ones who coast eventually reach a moment when the catalyst for change stares them in the face — and it’s not always the conflict or betrayal itself. Sometimes it’s a terrible birthday, a ruined holiday, a date that goes spectacularly wrong, or one painfully dismissive conversation.
That’s why I devoted a whole chapter of my book to the tipping point. Because when you find the strength to walk away – it is always deeply personal. No two people reach it the same way, and there’s no timeline.
As my co-workers and I listened to her story—her new-found determination (only slightly dimmed by her own self-deprecating remark, “I’m the idiot that stayed,” which we quickly refuted)—we each found ourselves sharing our own tales of relationships where we stayed far too long: four extra months, twelve months, five years. And me? Well, my book tells the full story of just how far too long I stayed.
Sure, there were good moments. But the low points always outweighed them. And at some point, I realized — there’s no merit badge for suffering through a broken relationship.
One of the hardest parts of leaving is sitting one uncomfortable truth:
That you missed out on so much.
So much inner peace.
So much guilt-free joy.
So much unconditional love.
All because you stayed far too long.
For those we love who are stuck in their own broken relationships, there’s only one thing we can do: share our stories. Speak the truth about whatever keeps us tethered — whether it be obligation, complacency, fear, or the seductive comfort of the familiar.
That’s the scary part of living authentically. The terrifying awareness of accountability. The moment when you have to look yourself in the mirror and say:
“I stayed far too long.”
If any of this feels familiar, maybe you’re standing at your own tipping point. Maybe you’ve been excusing, delaying, or convincing yourself that things will change — when deep down, you know they won’t.
Ask yourself: What is the cost of staying too long? What peace, joy, and love are you missing out on while you wait?
I’d love to hear your story. Share it in the comments, message me privately, or write it down just for yourself — but speak it out loud somewhere. There’s freedom in naming it. And who knows? Your truth might be the one that helps someone else finally step into theirs.
Because sometimes the bravest thing we can do is simply say:
“I stayed far too long. And now, I’m done.”
With all of my love, xoxo
J
Journey Coaching 
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