“Okay fine. I guess. I’m sorry, but I’m just a kid, Emily. I can’t be expected not to fuck up-”

This is the ridiculous response I got from my boyfriend of a year after spending 15 minutes of my time dragging the truth I already knew out of him: I had been getting cheated on for about four months or so now. A month later, I sit writing this not because I’m devastated or sad, but because I never had anybody tell me that when it happens to you, everything you’ve ever thought you’ve known about the situation goes flying out the window. And that’s okay.

You see it in the movies, and if you’re like me, you’ve always thought to yourself “How could she ever feel like it’s her fault? It’s obviously a ‘him problem.’” or your favorite part is watching the two girls (or six. ahem.) that the guy was playing simultaneously say “Screw you, dude!” and then become best friends themselves. Maybe you’re a hopeless romantic, and you really enjoy when he realizes he messed up and comes crawling back apologizing and begging for forgiveness.

Ha.

SEE ALSO:How A Toxic Relationship Made Me Better

Here’s the thing. The fact that the boy took your virginity, the fact that he and his mother had talked about him proposing to you one day, the fact that he was the one who came crawling back that one time, the countless, “I love yous," him knowing that you were the only person in his life with his best interest at heart, his being aware of your sexual assault past and your current trust issues…

None of those things outweigh the selfish pride of a 20 year old man child.

Maybe it’s because the moment he admitted it I drove away, called his mom, and left him 30 minutes from home in 12 degree weather, who knows, but after a year of being with this kid the only compensation I received was one grammatically incorrect text message telling me that if I ever wanted to talk, he’d be there.

How generous.

If you want to get real here for a minute, I’m the girl who everyone tends to appreciate. I’m the friend who people typically want around when things go South, or they need support. So, to be honest, the hurt I felt wasn’t because he was gone. Rather, I struggled mostly with the idea that he didn’t want me back, that it felt like I had no impact on him at all, and that he didn’t miss me.

If (God forbid) you’ve ever been in this situation, you know what I mean, right? The “There’s no way in Hell I’d ever take him back, but he needs to want me still!” pouty attitude? If that’s you, hear me say this:

You absolutely deserved more.

You shouldn’t just be hearing from his mom. He should’ve texted you over and over. He should’ve sent flowers to your doorstep accompanied by a mile-long handwritten apology. He should’ve called and left messages and done everything he could to tell you that he is sorry for hurting you and, although he knows it’s a long shot, he wants to know if there’s anything he can do to make things right. He should’ve put all his effort into making sure you know that despite everything that happened, he has the greatest respect for you. You should’ve gotten those things. I am so sorry you didn’t.

SEE ALSO: 10 Things Girls Want You To Know, But Won't Tell You

But, and this took me a while to understand, he does not need to want you back.

It’d be ridiculous for me to act like I was fine and like I didn’t cry my eyes out for a whole day, because I promise I did. For one whole day, I was angry with God for letting things pan out this way, for letting me go a year believing in something only to get hurt again. For 24 hours I almost succumbed to thinking I should have been someone else. I should’ve been hotter, I should’ve been okay with the drugs, I should’ve been one of the girls who knew about me and was cool with it, because that’s the kind of girl he was into.

As if.

It pains me to think about, but had he continued to pursue me, I may have debated taking him back. I may have begun to make excuses for him, the way others have. I may not have recognized that there is absolutely no one to blame but him. I may never have known with absolute certainty that I’m much better off without a serial-cheater, drug addict who can’t do laundry and has no motivation for anything, and I may have continued to settle for less than an orgasm (sorry, not sorry).

In all seriousness though, it’s very scary to think that I could have let him infect my self worth or taint my moral principles.

It’s scary to think that there’s a chance I would have given up on the things I know I deserve.

Somewhere toward the end of my 24 hour pity party, I began to see clearly that he is not the person who I was in love with. He looks like him and talks like him, but I was in love with the person he fed me, who, as it turns out, is someone entirely different. I came to the realization that I could’ve been the hottest, nicest girl on campus, but he is who he is, and the person that he is doesn’t deserve another moment of my time. (My apologies to his mom; I’ll miss you too.)

So, I put away the tissue box and wrote down a list of 60 attributes that I want my future husband to embody. I read over the list to figure out how many of them druggie measured up to, and his score was a resounding 3.

Just like that, he became the past. I spent my winter break with people who lift me up. I went out and flirted and had fun, but more importantly, I got a new job where I get to help people and do good, and I spent quality time tackling a new cookbook full of healthy recipes with my mom. I got a volunteer position as a Girl Scout Troop Leader and got to sing alongside some really inspiring individuals on the stage of my awesome church, which is something I’ve wanted to do for a long time.

I am newly devoted to carrying out my officer role within my sorority, I applied to be a Greek Leader on campus, I got into a study abroad in Australia, and I’ve worked out once a day, every day since I ended things.

I am happier, my smile is bigger, and my little sister has a renewed role model. I feel like me again, and I would thank him for it if he had done any of it for me.

But I did those things.

I get credit, and so as 2017 begins, I want to spread a message of resiliency.

It’s easy to question God’s will, to ask why, and to feel sorry for yourself. In my biased opinion, I’ve faced a pretty decent amount of obstacles so far, but I decided a long time ago that I am a young woman who will wake up every day with a truly positive outlook on my life. And really, if you’ve decided that ahead of time, that, “I’m going to take the good out of this day,” then there’s absolutely nothing out there that has the power to threaten you.

The reality is that adversity will make its way to all of us, but resiliency is a muscle that you build up - and it, along with my glutes, is getting stronger and better looking every day.