I bet you’re still wondering why I never called. To be honest, I’ve also been wondering why I never called—but here I am, half a year later, slowly working out the details of what went wrong with a guy I was “just talking to” for a few weeks in 2015.

Before you read any further, let’s get this out in the open: I ghosted on you. I committed a millennial sin. I am the bad guy. I have accepted this about myself, and I’m not writing to ask for forgiveness. I’m writing to explain why.

I’ve always considered myself to be a strong woman who was more than capable of caring for herself. My life has never been easy, and I learned early on that I had to watch out for myself. But I also learned to be a people-pleaser, to seek approval from anyone who would offer it, and to confuse control with affection. When you came into my life, it seemed so promising—we had similar ambitions, similar insecurities, and an unrelenting commitment to improving the world we lived in. Despite the fact that we were glaringly incompatible, I let our similarities cloud my judgement and immediately sought my own self-esteem from you.

So when you told me you had high standards for how women were to be groomed, it seemed like a reasonable request. It seemed like an easy and immediate way for me to be ‘enough.’ A $45 bikini wax later and I was somehow more whole, more complete. More lovable, touchable. More itchy and uncomfortable and embarrassed to even look at myself in the mirror, but those seemed like a small price to pay for self-worth.

But the problem with men who want women to change themselves, or women who want men to change, is that the changes never stay. I prefer being natural. I do not ever care if my nipples are showing. I like my eyelashes without mascara and my nails without polish. I shave my armpits, but I think my friends who rock pit hair are beautiful and desirable. I don’t always shave my legs or my bikini line because that shiz just grows right back. I don’t want to fight an endless battle against my God-given body, because I fundamentally can never, ever win.

And yet the battle spiraled on.

So there I was a few weeks later, about to have the eyebrow hair pulled out of my face when I realized enough was enough. Because love isn’t paying for the girl you are dating to get her eyebrows threaded. Because love isn’t compromising your own values and comfort for another person’s approval. Because love is acceptance, kindness and support. Love is messy and tangled and sweaty and hairy.

So here I am. My Cara Delevingne eyebrows are back again, but my self-esteem still feels the weight of your words almost every day. I’m slowly recovering thanks to a truly amazing boyfriend and daily self-care, but for months I’ve felt ugly and unlovable and guilty for never calling you back. I shouldn’t have ghosted, and I’m truly sorry for that. But cutting you out of my life allowed me to heal—and I’m stronger and more comfortable with myself than ever before.