One month after my relationship ended, I went to see Esther Perel speak at the 92nd Street Y. She polled the audience, as she always does, and asked, “How many of you are in a relationship or married?” For the first time in a long time, that wasn't me. Then I asked: How many of you are single? When I raised my hand, a tear ran down my face. I felt weak. It seemed very formal.
This may sound very dramatic, but if you have broken up from a long-term relationship, you will know that it is a shock that requires a heavy dose of reprogramming. A breakup, even when self-inflicted, is like undergoing open-heart surgery. Nothing prepares you for this kind of loss. Culturally, we don't leave room for the complexities of the end of a relationship. Whether we are family, friends or partners, we do not acknowledge or respect the depth of these losses. After the end, getting closure and moving on becomes the primary focus.
Let's talk about rom-coms for a moment. Romantic comedies often portray straight women in a “come back to me” phase, with men portrayed as less emotionally complex. The narrative usually involves the woman taking time for herself, going on a trip, dating again, or having some strange adventure before meeting her next partner. Instead, she may end up living happily ever after, but alone, in a state of self-acceptance, independence, and strength.
Welcome. It's a wonderful fantasy, but it's not reality.
I wasn't ready. I also thought it was going to be a rom-com. I've booked retreats. I searched for myself. I practiced yoga. I pondered. You have “come back to me”. Well, sort of. Ending my relationship (again) forced me to confront a variety of past, present, and future challenges. It was an algebraic equation: childhood + trauma + homosexuality + family estrangement/separation = long grief. What is the equation for your context?
Usually childhood + trauma + personal identity + social community + career + financial security + access to resources and health care. It is important to acknowledge all the factors present during any transition in your life, as neglecting one of them may result in missing an important part of your story.
This is not a “happily ever after” love story. I've been single since Alex and I broke up. I wanted him back on several occasions, but only when he didn't want me back. I still think about him every day. I still dream about him at night.
I've been alone for a long time. And this is difficult.
I have achieved great success at work. I've made new friends. Did you trust yourself? I finally know who I am, I'm confident in myself, and I've come to a self-definition that I can say I truly love. But I'm still stuck emotionally. Everyone I date disappoints me. Nobody communicates. It seems impossible to get someone's interest to the point where they'll stay. Plus, it's not just other people. This is me. I haven't felt anything in a long time.
Birthdays and holidays were absolutely terrible. It's just a reminder of my loss and loneliness. My first Christmas without Alex was terrible. I spent it with Alex, of course; We cried. His family expressed their desire for us to stay together. Alex and I had sex. It was chaos. However, I'm glad I got to spend this time with them. They still feel like my family. It still felt like my family.
Subsequent holidays were equally difficult. I scared them. I missed his family (and still do). I missed our routine. I missed having someone to surprise and go holiday shopping with for cute gifts. To buy beautiful wrapping paper and fancy bows. (I was doing my best). The absence of such moments has left a void; I missed them so much. Alex felt the same way, and during these times of year, my longing for these shared experiences is especially acute.
Oh my goodness and don't even get me started on Valentine's Day! Alex and I had this tradition where we would make sushi and exchange gifts. It was so sweet, I was looking forward to it. So, I wasn't prepared for what it would be like to be an observer rather than a participant in this stupid holiday. It really sucked.
I still miss Alex often. It's not just him that I miss. It's the metaphor. It's the life we had. It is the ability to say “we”. “We” are doing this, “we” are visiting friends, “we” are going to France this summer. Instead of saying: “I booked flights alone. I don't know who to go with yet.”
When I talk to people about these feelings, they're quick to say, “Do you think you're over it?” When they do, I'll scream inside and politely say, “I think so.” But my relationship with Alex has played such a big role in my life that I'm not sure how it happened more Something like this.
I know they're thinking, Wow, he's still not finished yet.
But we don't get it more Loss; We move on during That, but the loss stays with us. If you lost a loved one, would you simply move on and get over it? No. Your life is changing. It adds more to your life, and the loss evolves into something smaller and more manageable, something you may not think about much. But the loss remains. Alex was my family, and losing him was a big deal. Will I “continue”? Will meeting a new person change my perspective on my relationship with him? Undoubtedly, time and new experiences will bring healing and change. However, the memories of our time together will always be with me.
It's undeniable that it's hard to be alone, but culture, family, and friends rarely provide us with the space to overcome the emotional difficulties that accompany single life. Instead, there are all these reductive statements that convey an implicit judgment, such as comments like “You should enjoy being single” or “Maybe you need to love yourself more.” It's just a reminder of society's expectations of independence and sadness rather than compassion.
In fact, some people “move on” and no longer feel preoccupied with thoughts of their ex. Others don't. Neither response is inherently “true” than the other. You might think, Ok I'm He would choose never to think about them again. But our feelings are not a matter of choice. We have to accept where we are, tolerate it, and resist the urge to judge ourselves against some imagined ideal. It is a false assumption to think that if you stop thinking about your ex, your life will automatically improve. Life will remain complex and challenging no matter who occupies your thoughts.
We often learn more about ourselves and what it means to be alive through pain (rather than around it). Although ending my relationship was difficult, discovering my identity as an independent person without a relationship shaping my identity was even more difficult. This is where I became myself.
Rodale wrote
Adapted from How to love someone without losing your mind By Todd Baratz. Copyright © 2024 by Todd Bartz. Used with permission from Rodale wrote, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. All rights reserved. No part of this excerpt may be reproduced or reprinted without written permission from the publisher.
