“When someone shows you who they are, believe them the first time.” — Maya Angelou

I grew up with her. She’s beautiful inside and out—smart, driven, compassionate. A true professional who worked hard to get where she is. Nothing was handed to her. She earned every bit of her success.

So when she started dating someone new, I was hopeful for her. He was handsome. Smooth with words. The kind of guy who knows how to make an entrance—and how to make you feel chosen. He laid it on thick: compliments, deep conversations, promises of a future. He appeared professional, emotionally aware, and ready for something real.

But then the cracks started to show.

He asked to borrow money—just a little, he said. He’d pay it back. Then it turned into more money. Then it turned into, “I need a place to stay.” Then it turned into, “I can’t find a job.” And every time she tried to set a boundary, he made her feel guilty. When she cried, he said, “You’re too emotional.” When she asked for clarity, he said, “You’re overthinking.” When she pulled back, he said, “You’re not being fair.”

It wasn’t love. It was performance. And she was the audience.

We Live in a World That Rewards Performance

Curated feeds. Filtered feelings. Rehearsed vulnerability. And in that world, it’s easy to mistake charm for character, attention for affection, and presence for partnership.

But when you’re healing—when you’re rebuilding trust—you don’t need someone who looks perfect. You need someone who’s real.

And real people don’t use you. They see you. They honor you. They show up for you.

What We’re Taught About Love—And Why It’s Wrong

Part of the reason we fall for performance is because we were never taught what real love looks like. We were taught stories. Scripts. Fantasies.

Think about the musical Grease. Sandy (played by Olivia Newton-John) changes everything about herself—her clothes, her hair, her energy—just to be “sexy enough” for Danny. He treats her horribly. He’s embarrassed by her in front of his friends. He pushes her away, then pulls her back. And she keeps giving him another chance.

That’s not love. That’s conditioning.

We’re taught that love is dramatic. That it hurts. That you have to earn it. But real love doesn’t ask you to become someone else. Real love doesn’t shame you, confuse you, or make you feel small.

Yes, attraction matters. But people age. Looks fade. What lasts is character. What heals is authenticity. What holds you is integrity.

What It Looks Like When Someone Is Using You

It’s not always obvious. Sometimes it feels like love. Sometimes it looks like friendship. Sometimes it sounds like support.

But underneath, there’s a pattern. A pull. A performance.

Here’s how you know:

• They take more than they give. Emotionally, energetically, financially, spiritually.

• They show up when it benefits them. Not when you need them.

• They mirror your values—but don’t live them. They say the right things but avoid accountability.

• They disappear when you set boundaries. Or punish you for having needs.

• They make you question your worth. You feel drained, not nourished. Confused, not clear.

Using someone isn’t always malicious. But it’s always misaligned. Because real connection requires reciprocity. And real love doesn’t extract—it expands.

The Illusion of Perfection

Sometimes we chase the curated version of someone—the beautiful, desirable image we’ve been taught to want. We fall for the aesthetic, the performance, the illusion. And then we get close… and realize it’s hollow.

Because beauty without depth is lonely. Perfection without presence is cold. You can’t share your soul with someone who doesn’t know theirs.

And here’s the deeper truth: Not everything that looks “real” is aligned with integrity. Sometimes what’s polished is performative. Sometimes what’s confident is disconnected. Sometimes what’s desirable is emotionally unavailable.

Authenticity isn’t always pretty. But it’s honest. And honesty is what builds trust. Realness is what holds you when life gets hard. Realness is what stays when the performance ends.

When Empathy Overpowers Boundaries

Sometimes we make our empathy louder than our boundaries. We hear the “hard childhood” story, the trauma, the pain—and we want to help. We want to understand. We want to be the safe place they never had.

But here’s the truth: You can have empathy. You can understand. But it’s not your job to do someone else’s healing work.

Love doesn’t mean sacrificing yourself to fix someone. Love should be your soft place to fall. Your peace. Not a place where you constantly put someone else’s needs before your own.

Compassion without boundaries becomes self-abandonment. And that’s not love. That’s survival.

How to Protect Yourself Without Losing Yourself

If you suspect someone is using you, don’t rush to self-blame. Pause. Reflect. Reconnect with your truth.

Here’s how to stay grounded:

• Don’t judge just on looks. Attraction is real—but it’s not the whole story.

• Watch what they do—not just what they say. Words can be rehearsed. Actions reveal character.

• Take your time. Get to know someone slowly. Ask questions about their goals, values, how they view life, and what they want in a partner.

• Trust your body. If you feel anxious, drained, or unsafe—listen. Your nervous system knows.

• Watch for patterns. One-off mistakes are human. Repeated harm is a choice.

• Ask hard questions. Are they here for you—or for what you provide?

• Set boundaries. Real ones. And see how they respond.

• Return to your spirit. Whether through prayer, meditation, journaling, or silence—come back to the part of you that knows who you are.

You don’t need to be perfect to deserve love. You don’t need to be useful to be valued. You don’t need to be silent to stay safe.

Final Truth

You don’t need someone who looks the part. You need someone who lives the truth.

If someone is using you, it’s not because you’re weak—it’s because you’re generous. If someone is performing love, it’s not your job to stay and applaud.

You are allowed to walk away from what drains you. You are allowed to protect your peace. You are allowed to choose relationships that feel like home—not a stage.

So take off the blindfold. Watch what they do. Listen to how you feel. And remember: the most powerful thing you can do is believe yourself.