My Breakup Playlist:
(If you have a Spotify account, click here.)
- Heartbreaks + Setbacks, Thundercat
- Bare, Wildes
- Love is a Losing Game, Amy Winehouse
- Cranes in the Sky, Solange
- Drew Barrymore, SZA
- Malibu, Miley Cyrus (this one isn’t really a breakup song because it’s about Miley and Liam getting back together, but you can tell they’ve been through some ish).
Two weeks ago my boyfriend and I broke up. And by “we broke up,” I mean he broke up with me. And by “he broke up with me,” I mean I was blindsided by it.
As someone who considers myself relatively self aware, I was pretty freaked out when it happened. One moment you’re sitting in your apartment watching Shark Tank, sipping pamplemousse-flavored La Croix, thinking everything is fine, and the next, your boyfriend/best friend/roommate combo package comes home and tells you that he no longer wants to see you anymore.
Needless to say, it was devastating.
There’s nothing more surreal than getting broken up with in the apartment you share because you have no idea where to go afterwards. Am I supposed to leave now? Do you leave? Do we hug goodbye? What is the goddamn protocol here?
Then after said event, your apartment becomes half crime scene where “the end” happened and the remaining 50% turns into an an old, dusty museum, commemorating the happy times in your relationship (…and over to your right is the “Where We Used To Have Sex and Listen to John Mayer Exhibit”).
The whole process of un-coupling (thanks Gwyneth for the vernacular) is terrifying. Just when you think you’ve exhausted all of the tears that you have left in your body, some unexpected emotional firecracker pops up and suddenly you’re back on that over-analysis “why did this happen!?” train.
Well, now that some time has passed (two weeks and two days, but who’s counting), I’m finally at a place where I have occasional coherent thoughts. I’m still shocked by how and when it happened, but with time comes fleeting glimpses of clarity.
Now that I’ve stepped away, I can recognize that our relationship wasn’t perfect. We were starting to grow apart at the end. It’s difficult to come to terms with because there was no major blow up. As he was breaking up with me, I couldn’t help but think of how valid all of his points were. Even though it’s not what I wanted to hear, I couldn’t deny that maybe he was right.
I know that we were no longer as compatible as we once were. When you find yourself constantly gravitating towards different people and wanting to do different things, it’s exhausting. I’m pretty sure we were headed down a path of resentment, although for me, we hadn’t hit it yet. In a few months I probably would’ve been on the same page, but in the words of the great Selena Gomez “the heart wants what it wants” and in that moment, as I was being broken up with, my heart said “nooooo, please don’t leave me.”
Unfortunately, just because the relationship changes course (a nice way to say “ends”), it doesn’t mean the love dissolves right away. In weak moments, I want to say, “let’s pretend this didn’t happen. I miss you so much! It’ll be different now. I swear!” But deep down, there’s a more confident version of me that knows that just because separation is difficult, doesn’t mean it’s wrong.
I’m trying not to confuse missing someone with needing to get back together with them. We dated for over three and a half years, of course I miss him. That was my entire post-college life. It’s basically like having a small limb removed (something more vital than an appendix but less crucial than an arm, I’d guess).
This was my first long-term relationship. The first time that I loved someone so much that I wanted to move in with them. The first time that I wanted to share everything with someone else. The first time I could see myself growing older with another person.
It’s so hard and scary to let go of that.
But I know that there’s a lot I will learn from being on my own for a while. I haven’t been truly independent for a long time — maybe ever now that I think about it. And I’m excited to see what I’ll learn about myself in this period of complete, and sometimes utterly terrifying, self-reliance.
I’m grateful for three and a half years with someone who helped me transition into adulthood. Someone who I made some of my favorite memories with — from drunkenly saying I love you for the first time over an extra large pitcher of sangria, to floating in the hot springs at Big Sur (and realizing the other people in it with us were completely naked), to drinking weed juice the night we had to file our taxes, to camping out in coffee shops and writing together all over San Francisco.
I wish part of my “healing” process didn’t require that I cut him out for a while, but I know my heart would be too confused if I did it any other way (so don’t take the inevitable Facebook/Instagram/Snapchat/Twitter/Find My Friends/Words with Friends block(s) personally, please).
Right now I’ve gotta focus on moving on.
And I’m excited to see what I find out in the process. Heck, I’ve already discovered I’m more resilient than I thought because I had a limb torn off and I’m still out here kicking.
