When you search for the word "humiliation," the dictionary defines it as "to reduce someone to a lower position in their own eyes or others' eyes: to make someone ashamed or embarrassed." But definitions are mere words until they materialize in the form of lived experiences. I came to understand this meaning far too late in life—at a point where I felt there was no self-respect left for me to lose.

Detaching from someone you deeply care about is an impossible feat. It's like trying to split a glass sheet into two equal halves with bare hands, knowing full well that it will shatter. Care begins innocently enough, followed by attachment, and then an overwhelming sense of dependency. The harder I tried to detach, the more I feared collapsing under the weight of my emotions. And yet, remaining attached felt like it was eating me alive.

The most painful moments came when I watched the person I cared for become more close and friendly with someone I had introduced them to. I made the mistake of voicing my feelings. “We used to have something special between us, like the connection I now see between you and Paul. I miss it,” I said. Her response? “We can go back to that if you stop liking me.” It felt like she was putting a gun to my head and asking me to bury my feelings for her, just to keep her in my life. It killed me—not because she wanted me to stop liking her, but because pretending to feel nothing would mean just that: nothing.

She genuinely believed that if I could suppress my feelings, everything would return to how it used to be. But life doesn’t work like that. To make it worse, she suggested I date other people, even get married. How could I explain to her that, while technically possible, doing so would mean losing her altogether?

The tragedy wasn’t just the unattainable nature of the relationship. It was the reality of liking someone you know you can never have, and still being unable to pull away. Common wisdom would suggest distancing yourself, letting time erode those feelings. But every time I tried, it only made me seem immature, irrational, or inconsiderate. And yet, humans aren’t built to suppress their emotions while maintaining closeness—at least not without mutual effort.

You might wonder where humiliation fits into all this. It comes in the third, lesser-discussed scenario of unreciprocated affection. The first scenario is simple: the person accepts your feelings and reciprocates. The second is painful but understandable: they reject you, and you part ways. But the third is the most cruel—it’s when they reject your feelings but insist on keeping you close. Not as a partner, but as someone perpetually on the fringes of their life. They’ll act like a partner in public but draw boundaries in private. They’ll expect you to include them in your daily activities but exclude you from theirs. They might ask for your help with groceries or errands but won’t step out to meet you halfway, literally or figuratively.

There were countless moments where I tried to show I cared, surprising her with small gestures that inevitably turned into arguments. When someone resents you, even your best intentions are twisted into evidence of villainy. She once accused me, out of the blue, of stifling her social life. “How could I meet new people when all I see is you?” she snapped one evening. It was a cruel misrepresentation—I had done nothing beyond what she asked of me and had even introduced her to many of the friends she held dear. But in her eyes, I was no longer a helper or a friend—I was a burden.

You become the lonely person who’s always there when needed, yet invisible when you need someone yourself. It’s like that neighbor who seems warm and welcoming when you first move in, only to start complaining about every little thing the moment you get comfortable. In my case, I was that person—someone who cared too much and became trapped in the cycle of giving, hoping it might someday be returned, and enduring the pain when it never was.

In the end, humiliation isn’t just about shame. It’s about the slow erosion of your sense of self when someone reduces you to nothing more than a convenience. And the worst part is that you allow it because you think, maybe, just maybe, they’ll finally see the person who’s been standing there all along.