The stories we're told about love often start long before our first relationship. They take shape in childhood; in the relationships we see, the affection we receive, and the roles we learn to play. By the time we start dating, many of us aren't just looking for love; we're repeating patterns we don't even realise we've inherited.
For Sunday Times bestselling author Toni Tone, it took years of breadcrumbing, people-pleasing and relationships that left her questioning her own value to realise she wasn't just choosing the wrong partners; she was carrying the wrong definition of love. Only by unlearning what she'd come to accept as normal did she discover what a healthy relationship could feel like…and it was very different to what she’d imagined.
Here, Toni shares what it feels like to unlearn everything she thought love was.
As told to Mischa Anouk Smith
What It Feels Like to Unlearn Everything You Thought Love Was
During the more difficult chapter of my life, dating felt quite anxiety-inducing. It also felt emotionally draining. I often questioned my value and self-worth; I tied it to the validation I would receive from my partner, and when they weren't treating me adequately, I would internalise that.
I had pockets of happiness, but it was the type of happiness I would now associate with breadcrumbing: someone giving you just enough attention and affection that you don't emotionally separate yourself from them, but not enough that you feel stable in a relationship.
I didn't really know where I stood with people, and I would question my value significantly.
I had to audit my own selection process and choices
The breakdown of my longest relationship forced me to review not just how my previous relationships made me feel, but also my own selection process and choices. I had to take on some deep self-reflection.
There's a massive difference between blaming yourself as a victim versus trying to learn from the experience. For me, it was about being honest with myself and asking: why did I think that relationship was suitable? Why did I pursue it? Why did I remain in that relationship despite feeling all these feelings of inadequacy?
That reflection process was a period of healing for me, and unlearning a lot.
Part of what I unlearned was how I viewed masculinity, what may have influenced that—my relationship with my dad, for example—and how that may have played a part in my selection process.
When you’re dating in your 20s, it can be easy to say: I want a career-driven guy who's tall, who's handsome. You don't pinpoint character in your selection process as much as you do in your 30s or later.
Those experiences emphasised the importance of traits I was dismissing as a young person: shared values, belief systems, consideration, understanding.
What helped me most was taking time out. I had a habit of being in a relationship, thinking I was doing self-work, getting into another relationship not long after and finding myself in a cycle.
I had to say: I am not going to enter anything else feeling jaded. I'm going to enter my next relationship from a place of healing, self-fulfilment and contentment.
I'm not looking for anyone to make me happy. I want someone who will complement the life and the happiness that I've already developed.
My value was rooted in what I was able to do for people
As a woman who identifies as “the strong one”, especially when you've been encouraged to be resilient, independent and a caretaker—whether it's as an older sibling, an only child or a carer—you end up feeling responsible for other people's unhappiness.
In my past relationships, I centred my partners because I took it upon myself to be of service. My value was rooted in what I was able to do for people and how I showed up for them.
I realised I was dismissing my own desires and needs because I took on this sacrificial role: “We'll do what you want; where you want to eat, wherever you want to go, whatever you want to do. I'm here to support you. That is my job: to be of help and to be of service.”
It created an imbalance in my dating.
With age, I've learned to take a back seat and be willing to open up, be more vulnerable, and not be so quick to offer my assistance. I can't please everybody.
I had to come to a place where I was comfortable with doing nothing.
Growing up, my dad was sometimes emotionally unavailable and sometimes emotionally volatile. I was used to him having moods and being unpredictable, so I went into relationships not realising that was my baseline.
Chaos was familiar to me.
There needed to be something happening—a tiff or something going on—otherwise it felt weird.
I had an ex before my husband who was such a gentleman. It didn't work out because I ended that relationship feeling: you are an amazing person, but I don't feel like you're my person. Because that was my first healthy relationship, it felt uncomfortable in the beginning. Being in a relationship where there was peace, if I'm honest, sometimes felt boring.
I feel ridiculous saying it, but I understand when women say, "He's too nice."
It's easy to feel that way when you come from a home dynamic, or even a previous relationship, where you've grown to equate a rollercoaster of emotions with excitement.
Being in that first healthy relationship as an adult, I was like: this feels so boring. Everything was just fine all the time; what's going on? What's the catch? This doesn't feel authentic; I need to see the real you, but that was the real him; I was just used to the opposite.
Safety feels like trust
The other day I posted something about my husband always falling asleep in the middle of the day. He sleeps for seven-plus hours at night and falls asleep during the day. Some people commented: "He feels safe around you."
I think safety feels like rest, like sleepiness. Safe feels like a willingness to not be active, a willingness to relax. That is safety for me.
Healthy love is everything you deserve
In the same way that rest doesn’t have to be earned, someone loving you wholeheartedly and willingly isn't something you have to earn.
I used to see the pursuit of love as a challenge: I'll make him choose me, I'll change him. I realised it was less about him and more about me proving something to myself: that I'm of value.
The message I would give to my younger self is that you are valuable and you do not have to prove that to people. You deserve to be loved for exactly who you are from the very beginning. It is not something you have to earn.
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