Aka, let me spell it out, buttercup. It's you. Absolutely, unequivocally, you.

When we're in the epic clash of the genders, breakups can happen for a million reasons. Today, we’re only going to talk about one, awful, just terrible communication.

The most common script reads like this:

Guy wants to do a thing. His lady pal thinks it's a no-go.

Cue the dramatic music and clash of words.

Guy does the exact thing she wasn't jazzed about to:

(a) he's the master of his own destiny, dammit;

(b) because he's as stubborn as a mule in mud; and

(c) well, he just damn well feels like it.

Round two of the verbal slugfest begins.

Guy says whatever magic words to put a pin in the squabble.

Gal, against her better judgment, concedes.
Cease fire. But shocking spoiler alert, only for a short while.

This soul-sucking cycle repeats ad infinitum. (Enter stage left: Bad communication.)

I hear this same story so much. And, let's be honest, I can relate. So, let's time travel back a millennium when I was dating this guy... hard worker, we vibed on a few things, and he was intelligent (or so I thought). But everyone comes with baggage, and his was chock full of a wild streak. (To be fair, I had a matching suitcase. Twinsies!)

The snag was I could spot a sinking ship from a mile off, and he, well, he was the captain going down with it. Quick to ignite, and so damn impulsive. Fights? Check. Job losses? Yup. And a whole lot more self-inflicted drama that followed him around like a pesky fly.

I pulled out all the stops to steer this guy away from doomed pursuits: reason with him, distract him, ignore him, and yeah, even holler like a five-year old in the middle of a supermarket meltdown. (More bad communication. Big no-no.)

There came a point when I had to ask myself, what's it gonna take to crack his code? Why am I even bothering? Why do I even give a shit? It's not my circus, not my monkeys.

And that's when it hit me. Lightbulb moment! It's NOT my circus.

From his point of view, I was a puppeteer pulling his strings. From mine, I was the hero in a cape, trying to save him from the inevitable train wreck that was always, without fail, on the horizon. (Cue more bad communication.)

But why the hell did I care? It was a nagging question that haunted my every waking hour—for the longest time. Sure, part of it was because his whirlwinds of disaster tended to sweep me up too. But why was my emotional thermostat hitting a fever pitch? (It couldn't always be the moon cycle.)

I thought about what it means to care for someone... how do you reach someone who's got a blindfold on? How far can you really go…and even if you can strong-arm them into doing things your way, should you?

Short answer: The answer is a big fat NO.

If caring about someone means wanting the best for them, it's a package deal with respecting their boundaries, which inevitably leads to a tough pill to swallow:

Like it or not, people have the right to make bad choices.

Figuring out where to draw the line in your relationship is where it gets tricky. One minute, a disagreement can be chalked up to bad communication, but the next, it can be a symptom of something much bigger lurking beneath the surface.

People who are rock-solid in themselves, and in their beliefs, don't deliver their opinions like a five-year-old on a sugar high.

Likewise, people who think you're worth their time actually listen to you. They don't dismiss you, or lie to you, or pull a fast one behind your back.

I realized my issue wasn't so much about bad communication as it was with acceptance.

See, coming to terms with my ex-boyfriend's right to make disastrous decisions wasn't really about him.

It was about coming to grips with a truth I had known all along: This dude and I were singing from different hymnals, and it was high time I hit the road.

All the shouting matches were just my cover to avoid admitting it.