Some phrases may sound powerful on the surface, like a declaration of strength — “She’s gone, and I let her go. I don’t need her.” But often, these words hide something much deeper: unspoken pain, lingering hope, and a fear of appearing vulnerable.

We live in a culture that teaches men to win, not grieve. To dominate, not reflect. So when they’re abandoned or betrayed, instead of acknowledging the weight of that pain, they often respond with devaluation. It's an emotional defense that feels like control — but it rarely brings peace.

Why Do People Devalue?

I’ve written many times that devaluation doesn’t happen when something truly means nothing to us. No one devalues a broken umbrella they left on a bus or a used receipt from a store. Devaluation, especially in relationships, is always about someone who still matters. A person can only become the target of this psychological weapon if they once held great importance.

Devaluation is how we wrestle back control after feeling powerless. We tell ourselves and others: “She’s the one who’s desperate. Not me.” But these narratives aren’t built on strength — they’re built on hurt pride.

The Comment That Says It All

Recently, a comment caught my attention. It said:

“Thanks. Took a few points for general knowledge. I don’t agree with everything, of course, because I don’t need a girl who cheated on me. I’m studying this for self-development. I was rude to her because she was rude to me. She probably realized I’m not coming back. I think she’s freaking out now.”

What’s fascinating here isn’t just the words, but the effort behind them. The man insists he doesn’t care, yet he’s reading, commenting, and justifying. If he didn’t care, why return to this topic repeatedly?

He claims to be detached, but everything about his message shows involvement. He even imagines her regret. This isn’t someone who’s indifferent. This is someone who was deeply wounded, still scanning the horizon for a sign of remorse — and creating it himself when it doesn’t arrive.

The False Comfort of Superiority

This behavior isn’t rare. Many men who’ve been betrayed or abandoned build an inner story where they’re the ones with the final say. In these imagined scripts, she’ll come crawling back, beg forgiveness, and they’ll reject her coldly. It’s not just fantasy — it’s a psychological cushion for someone who never received closure.

But the tragedy is that it never works. Because deep down, they know the woman isn't coming back. And instead of grieving or accepting the loss, they keep spinning the story tighter: “She’s freaking out. She realizes what she lost. I don’t need her.”

The irony is brutal: they’re holding on by pretending to let go.

Devaluation Doesn’t Heal — It Hurts

Men like this don’t realize how transparent their defenses are to those around them. Friends may nod along, but they often see through it. The more aggressively someone tries to paint their ex as desperate, the more it reveals who’s truly struggling to move on.

This kind of public denigration doesn't just harm the woman — it also erodes the man’s own dignity. Instead of grieving honestly or processing the betrayal with support, he buries himself in bravado. And the more he denies his pain, the more trapped he becomes in it.

Why Rudeness Is a Red Flag

Aggression is often a sign of unresolved hope. If he truly didn’t care, he wouldn’t react at all. He wouldn’t need to be rude back, to defend his position, to stay emotionally engaged. Real detachment is quiet. It doesn’t need to declare victory.

His anger betrays the fact that he still expected something. An apology, maybe. Or a recognition of how much she hurt him. But when it didn’t come, he gave it to himself — in her imagined regret and invented desperation.

What Real Acceptance Looks Like

There’s no shame in being the one who still hoped. There’s no weakness in wanting things to work out, or in feeling abandoned. But there is danger in refusing to acknowledge that truth.

Acceptance begins when we stop needing to prove that we “didn’t care anyway.” It begins when we let ourselves say, “Yes, I cared. I still do. And I need to find a way to move forward without needing revenge or false power.”

Strength is not in pretending we weren’t left. It’s in recognizing we were, and still choosing to grow.

Letting Go Without Rewriting the Story

If you’ve been in a similar situation, ask yourself: Are you trying to win, or are you trying to heal? Because those two are rarely the same thing.

You don’t need to rewrite what happened. You don’t need to cast her as the villain and yourself as the one who “could have left first.” You can grieve, feel betrayed, admit how much it hurt — and still reclaim your dignity.

You don’t need to humiliate her to feel strong. Quiet healing is stronger than loud superiority.

And maybe the hardest truth is this: If someone left you, and you still loved them, you didn’t lose because you didn’t get to leave first. You lost nothing — except the illusion that love always returns.

But you can gain something deeper — the ability to sit with truth, to speak from pain without hiding, and to move on without needing anyone to crawl back.

References

• Kübler-Ross, E. (2005). On Grief and Grieving: Finding the Meaning of Grief Through the Five Stages of Loss. Scribner.
  Explores the emotional stages of loss and how denial, anger, bargaining, depression, and acceptance play out in people’s experiences of abandonment and betrayal. Pages 68–93 delve into how anger is often a defense mechanism for unprocessed grief.