I Never Knew About the Chair Theory When I Was With Him—Back Then, I Just Felt Tired. Not Physically…

I had never heard of the chair theory while I was with him. Back then, it just felt like exhaustion. Not the sort that makes your legs ache emotional exhaustion. Id wake up each day convinced I had to earn my spot. That love was a daily exam and the grading was fierce.

It had been that way right from the start. When we were dating, I was always the one shuffling my schedule around to see him. Cancelling plans with friends, swapping shifts, sprinting between commitments. He always had something more pressing football, mates, work, lounging about. And when we finally did meet up, half the time he was glued to his phone, replying to texts or watching videos. Id talk, and hed mutter, Yeah, yeah, barely glancing at me.

When we moved in together, I honestly thought it would make things better. More shared time, closeness. In reality, it had the opposite effect. Id be up at the crack of dawn, off to work, coming home to cook, wash, tidy. He’d stroll in, plonk himself on the sofa, ask whats for dinner, then lock himself away to rest. If I asked for help, hed sigh and say he was tired. Later. Spoiler alert: later never showed up.

I remember one evening in particular. I was ill feverish and shivery. I asked him to make me some soup. He looked up and said, Cant you order something? So I dragged myself up, trembled through making soup, and cried while stirring the pot. For the first time, I felt like a guest in my own home.

His family gatherings were much the same. Id show up with food, help out, serve, wash the dishes. Not one person asked how I was, or whether I needed anything. And he never said, Come sit with me, or Stay here. I was always busy rushing around, invisible. One of his aunts remarked loudly, Well, shes very helpful, isnt she? Everyone laughed. I forced a smile, feeling like a convenient appliance.

The worst sting came on days that mattered to me. On my birthday, hed always say, Well celebrate another time. That another time was permanently delayed. But for his friends birthdays, he suddenly had endless time, money, and energy. I was in the background carrying gifts, snapping photos, clapping for someone elses big moment.

The sharpest memory is from a dinner with his friends. We walked in, he nabbed a chair at the main table and wasted no time chatting and laughing. I ended up perched on a lonely chair by the wall. No one included me. I watched plates pass around, laughter bounce from person to person, and felt it: I was at a table where my presence carried less weight than a salt shaker.

When we got home, I told him, through tears, I felt invisible. He said, You exaggerate everything. Always causing drama. Thats when it hit me even my pain had nowhere to sit.

After we broke up, a friend introduced me to the chair theory. She said something that stuck: When someone loves you, they dont make you wait. They make space for you no asking necessary.

I began replaying the whole relationship like a film. All the times Id craved attention. All the times Id waited for a message. All the times Id kept quiet just to avoid a fuss.

I realised Id spent years standing, emotionally balancing, trying not to be inconvenient. Trying to be enough.

And it wasnt just him. It happened in friendships where I always listened but no one listened to me. With relatives who only rang when they needed something. In jobs where I gave more than I got back.

These days, Im still flying solo. But I don’t feel small anymore. Now, when I enter a room, I look around. If theres no space, I leave. If I have to beg for attention, I step back. If someone makes me feel awkward simply for existing, I dont stick around.

I learned something late, but I did learn it:
I wasnt born to beg for a chair.
I deserve a place at the table where my presence is wanted.