So something I’d always assumed, was that when a relationship comes to an end there are two options:
Option 1) you are broken up with. Thanks to countless movies, books and T.V. shows, we have full coverage on how this should play out. First its ‘we need to talk’ then in an attempt to soften the blow ‘it’s not you it’s me’. Basically we all know that being dumped sucks, therefore it’s socially acceptable to ball your eyes out whilst listening to Taylor swift and eating all and any junk food you can find. Everyone understands it. Its almost expected.
Option 2) you are the one doing the breaking up. In my view I had thought that if you were on this side of things, you would feel totally different to the above scenario. I assumed that after said break up you would feel a sense of freedom like a weight lifting off your shoulders. You would get over it in matter of weeks if not days, then happily skip along the road to the rest of your life. For some people I’m sure this is exactly as it happens, but not to everyone, and certainly not to me.
So let me start my story by giving you some history. I was dating a guy (let’s call him Josh) for almost two years when I broke up with him. Half had been in high school, the other was at university, each of us in separate cities a.k.a. long distance.
Now I can pretty much hear you all going ‘ahhh long distance, it never works out’ because trust me, I heard it enough times while we were living it. Honestly though, while I’m sure distance did contribute, it wasn’t what ended us. Ill get to that.
Anyway, we had a wonderful time together in the first year. He the charming, yet sensitive and methodical social-butterfly and I, the overachieving yet fun loving dreamer. We were in love and it seemed like the perfect love story. We went on adventures together, spent hours talking about anything and everything and just generally loved to be with each other. He was my rock keeping me grounded, and I was his kite, helping him see past the clouds.
After a while though, especially when we moved to different cities, I began to notice differences in our outlook on life. Where I would see the positive in a situation, Josh would find the negative. Where he would need attention and reassurance from me, I would need space and my independence. Where I value living in the present, he would need to plan and prepare for things ahead of time.
Now any of these things on their own could definitely be worked through, but let me spin it to you like this. Imagine you are constantly having to reassure someone of who they are, when you’re still trying to find yourself. Whenever you need space and time to grow, they are hurt because they need you close. It was essentially a clash of two different souls and I began to feel suffocated in our relationship, despite the kilometers between us.
I think the hardest part was that I still loved him, and he still loved me, but something wasn’t working. I was hurting him needing time out from our regime, but I was exhausted. It became toxic in that sense, as the one thing he needed from me, became the one thing I couldn’t give him. Time.
I knew that I had to make a decision. Us together or us apart.
So I did it. On a sunny winters afternoon I drove an axe in to the middle of what we had been building for two years. And while I can’t say I didn’t feel a sense of relief, I also can’t say that I didn’t cry and cry and cry afterwards.
This is the part people can’t seem to understand.
I was the one who separated us, so why do I have the right to be upset about it? I’m the awful one. The one who broke his heart.
I broke mine too.
I grieved the josh shaped hole he left in my life. I grieved for a partner in crime, those ‘good morning beautiful’ texts, and the whispered late night phone calls. I went through all the stages; denial, anger, depression, anger again, guilt, acceptance and then finally peace. But even still, a year later I find myself thinking of him almost every day.
I still loved him when I broke up with him, and for months it tore me apart. But I gave it time, and looking back it was the best thing for us I could have done. I have done a lot of growing since then, and so has he. Somehow, by being selfish I actually managed to do something selfless.
I still talk to him from time to time, and it is bitter sweet. We have that easy rapport you have with someone you know inside out, and I miss that in my everyday life. But it’s so nice to see him at ease with himself in a way he just wasn’t when we were an Us. Because I loved him, I let him go.
And that’s how I know it was ultimately the right decision. Not just for me, but for us. Apart.
A little bird told me... 