IOU Nothing: Letting Go of Emotional Debt in Relationships

Raised In Emotional Debt

Growing up, I watched my mother give up parts of herself again and again. She’d compromise, adjust, and surrender her will to the people around her. There were two kinds of people who dominated her life, and these patterns shaped what I thought was “normal” in relationships.

First, there was my aunt—my mother’s sister—a smart woman, but also controlling. They had been through so much together, and even as adults, my mom relied on her for everything, including financial decisions. She couldn’t open a bank account or make a money move without her sister as a cosigner.

To me, it seemed like my mom just couldn’t trust herself to make decisions, so she leaned heavily on her sister’s opinion, like her own judgment wasn’t good enough.

Then, there were the men in her life. She didn’t seem to believe she could choose what was best for her; it felt more like she was “chosen” and made the best of it. She behaved like life was about taking whatever came her way, never actively reaching for what she wanted. Watching this, I thought this was how things were meant to be.

But as I grew older, I saw how much this way of thinking impacted me. I had no idea it was setting me up for abuse and manipulation. Just like my mom, I didn’t know how to go after what I wanted or stand up for my value.

I saw other people with the confidence to go for what they wanted, but I didn’t know how to get there. I thought success meant working hard and waiting for someone to give you a chance.

Paying with My Time, My Money, My Self-Worth

In every relationship, I’d get this feeling that I was always in debt, like I owed people something just to be around them. I thought if I gave enough, they’d finally see my worth, but that moment never seemed to come. Instead, I felt like a “debtor” in these relationships—always feeling like I owed them something, whether it was time, effort, or money.

My first husband was a perfect example. He had his own business, and I became the supportive “arm candy” wife. On the outside, people saw a successful life, but behind closed doors, he’d use guilt and manipulation to control me. He’d remind me how “lucky” I was that he’d chosen me, that any other woman would jump at the chance to be with him. When his business hit rough patches, he’d turn to me to save the day, leaning on my good credit to keep things going or expecting me to work for free whenever he fired someone in a fit of anger.

At first, I thought, “This is what a marriage is; we’re partners.” But he didn’t see me as a partner—he saw me as an extension of his business, his trophy, and his unpaid worker.

Debt Cancelled

After I finally left him, I fell into another relationship that seemed different. This man seemed more supportive, and he even offered to help me pay for my divorce because my ex was making it financially impossible for me to leave. He insisted on helping, saying it was the “right thing to do.” I was grateful, but I also said I’d pay him back—though he claimed it wasn’t necessary.

In a way, I was touched by his gesture. I wanted him to know I wasn’t taking him for granted. I made it my mission to show him gratitude by giving back in every way I could.

I kept thinking, “He helped me, so I need to help him.” But over time, his little reminders about the money he’d paid for the divorce grew louder. At first, it was subtle, as if he was sharing a memory: “Not every guy would pay for his girlfriend’s divorce, you know.”

But then the tone shifted, especially when he was frustrated with me. It became, “I did that for you, and you can’t even… [fill in the blank].” It was as if the entire worth of our relationship rested on that one transaction, and I was forever in debt.

This nagging sense of owing him kept me in line for years. I’d bend over backward to keep him happy, to prove I was worth the sacrifice he’d made. My own contributions—my work, my effort, my money—never seemed to matter. He was keeping a tally, and I always owed him.

After I finally took the step to leave him, I had to take out a restraining order to prevent him from stalking me. Even though I knew it was necessary, I was flooded with guilt, doubting myself and wondering if maybe I had gone too far. Was I being ungrateful for all the things he had “done” for me? Had I misjudged him? A part of me still clung to the idea that I owed him something for the divorce he helped finance.

That gnawing guilt led me to a test—a way to finally see if I was as indebted to him as he made me feel. I logged into my bank account and combed through years of transactions, one by one, tracing every dollar I had ever transferred to him over the five years we’d been together.

I didn’t even consider the countless other things I’d bought or the household expenses I’d covered. This was just the money I’d directly given him, usually in those times when he’d reminded me of the sacrifices he’d made, or hinted at the financial “burden” he took on to help me out.

What I discovered floored me: I had transferred him over $120,000, nearly eight times the $16,000 he’d paid toward my divorce. While he’d spent years subtly reminding me of my so-called debt, I was the one who had given him far more than he ever did for me.

In that moment, the whole illusion crumbled. I wasn’t the one who owed him; he had taken advantage of my trust, generosity, and desire to show gratitude.

That discovery became my wake-up call. The real debt was to myself—to reclaim my worth and value, and to understand that real partnerships don’t run on guilt or scorekeeping. I was done being the grateful girlfriend, trapped in an endless cycle of “paying back” a debt that had never been mine.

The Eye-Opener

That day was a turning point. I saw the truth: I didn’t owe him anything. In fact, I’d already given him more than I could afford, financially and emotionally. I realized that if I didn’t put value on myself, others never would. I had treated him like a partner, but he had treated me like a debtor.

I had to start setting boundaries, to stop giving all of myself and start keeping some for me. The truth is, if a relationship makes you feel constantly in debt—emotionally, financially, or otherwise—it’s not a relationship; it’s exploitation.

Finding My Worth

Now, I understand that my value isn’t determined by how much I give or what someone else thinks I owe them. I decide my worth. I create my value by investing in myself, not by constantly pouring myself into others who keep me in a cycle of gratitude and guilt.

If you’re reading this, maybe you’ve been through something similar. Maybe you’ve given too much of yourself, always feeling like you have to prove your worth by being “grateful” for what someone else did for you. You don’t owe anyone anything, especially if what you’re “paying” with is your happiness, your peace, or your self-respect.

The Real Path Forward

Value yourself first. Take small steps—start with positive thoughts, speak them aloud, write them down, visualize the life you want. Surround yourself with people who see your value without keeping score. Test each relationship against your values and see if it aligns with who you want to be. Set boundaries, hold onto them, and never compromise your worth.

You deserve to feel whole, respected, and loved for who you are—not for what you can give or what others think you owe them. It took me a long time to realize this, but I owe myself the love, value, and respect I was giving away so freely. And so do you.

letstalk@tiffanyandtyrone.com