Last I was here, I was having relationship troubles. The perfect guy that seemingly dropped out of thin air was getting cold feet seemingly out of thin air. On June 17th, 9 days short of being in my life for 7 months, he left.
Reasons given:
“I need someone who’s here.”
“I can’t have you move here for me. That’s too much pressure on the relationship.”
“I didn’t realize I wasn’t ready for a serious relationship.”
There was other babble throughout all the talking. Overall, he wanted something/someone who was easier. Easier to see based on location, and easier to have a relationship with. I’ve been pushing him. I know that thing you’re not supposed to do to men…be too pushy.
I’ve pushed him to have hard conversations. Hard honest conversations around how we felt about one another and where our relationship was going. Some of these conversations were brought up by him. He was the one to ask, “Where is this going?” first. It was mutual. A balance.
Then less than a week from when we actually broke up, something inside him broke. Something inside of him when he was tired from being on call all week, he was simply hungry from not eating enough all week, and he wasn’t getting in his one form of release: regular exercise. He broke. He broke and he decided it was me that was too much strain on his life.
I know what you’re thinking…it wasn’t that Laura. I know. It wasn’t one tough week that brought the house crumbling down. He had these precautions in the back of his mind. He was already searching for reasons why it wouldn’t work opposed to the ways we could give it our all. I know this. Because I’ve been in his shoes. I’ve been the one in a relationship with a great person, and I was the one doing everything to self-sabotage the relationship. I was the one finding every reason to walk out the door instead of stay.
I’ve hurt a lot of good men in this way. But as I always say…
Hurt people. Hurt people.
So, what did I do? How did I handle all of this?
Well first let’s back up a touch, first thing I did was Monday after our long talk last Sunday, I knew he needed space to think. He said he needed time to clear, recharge, and think. I listened. Thus, on Monday, I suggested we go on a zero-communication break til the evening of June 17th. He didn’t love it. He still wanted to talk to me.
Ladies this is important….I SET A FUCKING BOUNDARY. I set a boundary based of knowing myself. I knew if we talked all last week like nothing was wrong, when something was very obviously wrong. I would be an emotional wreck. I would be all over the place between deep sadness to anxious fear to get your shit together pep talks. I knew that would lead to one of the hardest weeks of my life. Sure, the morning texts were missed. The morning texts would’ve given me hope. But if later in his day, he didn’t have the time or energy for calling or simply texting. I would’ve spiraled into either anxious fear or deep sadness. I know me. I know this.
The simple communication was missed, but from Monday evening til about 4 pm on Thursday I was pretty good. I wasn’t completely in my head in worry the entire time. I managed my stress with ease to be honest. I rationalized what was going on. I realized the worst-case scenario…we’d break up. Sure, break ups are rough, but if I know how to do one thing in life…it’s be fucking single! I took care of myself. I worked out. I got up early. I stuck to my routines. The same routines that had gotten me through the past 3 years. The same routines that got me through the good times with him. They would get me through the bad times too.
Plain and simple. I took care of myself.
We talked on Thursday as planned. We broke up. He broke up with me. There’s a difference. All ladies or gents out there know the difference.
I was sad. I was upset. I was hurt.
I said the things I had to say to him…
“If you truly want to be happy, Doctor (he’s a doctor btw), you gotta start doing the work. It’ll suck. It’s not fun, but you gotta do it. Or don’t and you will continue on the current path you’re on knowing there is something better yet just out of reach. It’s not easy but coming from someone who’s done the work. The work…works. Eventually you’ll be happy.”
“Stop saying you’re fucking sorry. You’re not fucking sorry. You’re doing exactly what you want and need to do for you. Don’t ever be sorry for that. If you’re sorry you hurt me. Do something about it. Don’t be fucking sorry. Do better.”
“Is there someone else?”
“No”
“Would you tell me if there was?”
“Probably”
-Jury is still out on that one.
“I know this is petty, but I hope you never fuck someone with better vagina than mine again. I know how much you love her, and I hope you never find a replacement or even someone that comes close.”
“I probably won’t” said with a little laugh.
We both kinda needed that little laugh.
I said it all. I got it all out on the table. I was decently calm. I didn’t shut down. I didn’t completely bawl my eyes out to the point of being a blubbering mess. I told him I loved him. I told him I wish he would’ve actually given this a try, but I hope he’s happy someday. I even told him if he needs help getting to find happiness. If he needs help figuring out how to do “the work,” I’m here. Maybe give me a couple of months, but I’m here.
I said goodbye for the final time. I wanted to be clear. We are not friends. We were not friends before this, and thus at this moment we will not revert to friendship. A clean break.
I got off the phone. I cried a lot alone under a tree in the North Yard. I don’t think anyone saw me. I texted the people who needed to know.
I felt weak. You know the feeling like your legs are lead and at any moment you could collapse onto the asphalt. I made it back to the boat. I sat in the doorway of the bathroom and cried while the deckhand convinced me I needed to eat dinner. I showered. The deckhand made us dinner. We watched some TV; way later than I would normally stay up on a Thursday off season. I went to bed. I cried more. I slept really deep.
I woke up the next morning. I made a plan to go a see a girlfriend for the weekend. Friday was the longest day I had all week. I drove 3 hours north to my girlfriend’s place to see her, her cat, and her significant other.
I had a great weekend with them. We laughed so hard I snorted. She snorted. He laughed because we were snorting. I hardly cried. It felt so good to laugh really hard with her again.
I did the simple things to help my heart heal.
I’m not 100%. I still get caught off guard by little things I miss. Yesterday, it was the absence of the “Good morning Sunshine” text. Who knows what it’ll be today? I’ve wanted to text him I want to know he’s missing me. I want him to know I’m missing him. I don’t do these things. Because there is the voice in the back of my head that knows, it won’t change anything. Revisiting the same trauma doesn’t change the trauma, it just keeps it alive.
I know I’ll be okay. I know I’ll find someone else. I’m looking forward to a summer without having to think about calling or texting someone. I’m looking forward to a summer where I get to focus on visiting friends and family while I’m in New England, not strategically plan how to see a boyfriend. I’m looking forward to being a little less attached to my phone, and a little more present with the people in my direct contact. There is silver lining to all situations.
Lastly, I’m grateful he showed me how strong I am. This break showed me, all the work I’ve been doing in being myself, on loving myself…it’s working.
Yes, I’m sad.
Yes, this still hurts.
But this breakup doesn’t feel hopeless. All my other breakups were days or weeks of agonizing what I did wrong. How I could’ve been better. Been a little different. And maybe they would’ve stayed. It led me grasping for hope that I could still somehow fix things and get the guy back. We always want it to be that simple. We always want to fix something.
That’s the difference. This relationship was different. I didn’t hide parts of myself to make him like me. When he did things that made me feel small or said things that stung, I told him. He listened. He respected what I said. I did the same for him. I showed up completely as myself. I didn’t self-abandon to people please. I didn’t play down or hide my past parade of men between my legs. I didn’t quiet my voice when I got passionate about something. I didn’t hide my opinion when it didn’t agree with his. I was the truest authentic version of myself. It felt good. It feels good, knowing this is the first true relationship I’ve had in my life. The first one where I stayed true to myself.
Knowing I didn’t back down from the hard parts. There is nothing to go back and fix because this one, he didn’t want me. The real me. Not some fabricated version of who I thought he may like. I wasn’t sure this would be easier. I thought if I showed up in a relationship truly as myself and they rejected that, it would be harder because they were really rejecting me. Not some made up armored version of me. But I was wrong.
This is easier because at the end of this relationship, at very least, I have me. In all my other relationships, at the end, I had not only lost them. I had lost myself somewhere in the relationship. I was mourning. The loss of them and me. This time I just have to mourn the loss of him, and if he’s not ready to be with me. The pain is still there because I truly loved this man, but better to know that now. Better not to waste my time now. Better to move on now.
This is the work…working!
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