totally didn’t understand where all this was coming from. So suddenly. So completely without some sort of catalyst that I could identify. Something to—make sense of it all.
But something clearly had changed for him.
And I don’t think I will ever know what it was—because despite all the words he had said about how much this had meant to him; this person didn’t even think I deserved the respect of an explanation. After a few more questions from me, followed by a few more one-word passive-aggressive answers from him, he stood up, and said, and I quote, “I’m done. I’m out.”
And he walked himself away from me. No goodbye. No looking back.
Just left me sitting on those cold concrete steps.
And this is the part that is hard to write, especially when I spend my life talking to you about the importance of self-respect. But I’m going to write it anyway. I’m going to tell you. And I’m going to do it because I promised you I’d be real.
I was so incredibly shocked by what was happening and still not understanding any part of the why—that I got up and I walked after him. I walked after the man whose back was facing me as he walked away from all the words he said he’d meant. The man who had offered me nothing in the conversation. Who had ended a relationship with “I’m out.” (What is that?) I walked after the man who was burning something down with no kindness and no maturity and absolutely no respect. I totally should have had some witty have a good life comment. I totally should have picked myself up and walked bravely in the opposite direction with my head held high.
But, I didn’t—and I give myself a pass for that. Because I cared about him. And I was confused. And frankly, yes, hurt and not ready to let it all go. Especially when I didn’t understand it.
I called his name. And—he literally did not even turn around.
I called it again. No response.
I walked faster.
When I caught up to him, I linked my arm with his in an effort to slow him down—and asked one final time. “What is happening right now? Why are you doing this? Why won’t you just tell me what is going on?”
His arm stiffened and he looked at me again coldly—and just said one last time—“I have nothing else to say. I’m done. I’m out.” And that man got in his car, slammed the door, and left me standing there watching him drive away.
If they don’t know how they feel—
then I’m sorry, but the answer is no.
And that is how it ended. Like that.
Now, just for context, I’m going to give you some additional details. I’ve been in my fair share of relationships. Most of them have lasted years. This one was not even close to that. We weren’t married. We didn’t live together. We didn’t have kids or joint bank accounts. And I guess that’s why it’s sort of ironic that something like this—like him—could prompt me to write an entire book. But life is like that, isn’t it? And since love is not some neat little mathematical equation—it doesn’t really have to make sense, does it?
I tell you this because I want you to know that how long you are together doesn’t really much matter, other than to predict how many knots there will be left to untangle in the end. And I want you to know that—while our experiences are generally unique, we are not. Humans are so very much the same at the core—especially when it comes to love and loss. A relationship can be short and intense—or it can be long and intense. And intense can mean good things. Or bad things. Relationships can fizzle out quickly—or slowly unravel over the course of an entire decade. They can be complicated. Or perfect. Or confusing. They can move fast. Or so incredibly slow. And sometimes, they can be all of those things at once.
So maybe you’re dealing with a broken heart you got from your high school sweetheart. Maybe you’re breaking up after three months. Or three years. Or maybe, even three decades. Maybe you’re sitting there, alone, looking at this world and not recognizing it at all—because without them, you have truly known no other life. Or maybe you’ve been trying to leave for years—knowing it wasn’t healthy but couldn’t quite let go. Maybe it was kids. Or finances. Or family. Or health. Or—one of a million other really complicated reasons I’m not even going to pretend to understand. The nuances are always going to vary, love, but I think the rest of it—the feelings part? Those are mostly the same. And that’s the part I want to explore.
How you felt. And what you did with all that.
Anyway—just to round out this story, I need to share how it really ended. The next morning (like, less than twelve hours later)—when I was still reeling from what had happened and thinking he’d definitely call to say he’d made a mistake—he was already back on the dating site we’d met on. (Yes, I checked. Yes, dating apps are the bane of everyone’s existence. Yes, we are all still hoping we’ll run into the person of our dreams in the broccoli aisle.).
And this is the world we’re supposed to find love stories in. This is how someone who said they cared about me responded to—um, I still don’t even know what happened. Maybe it was something I did but will never know. Maybe something crazy was going down in his life that he just couldn’t share with me. But I’ll tell you—no matter what the reason was, I keep going back to one simple truth. He could have chosen to talk to me about it. And he didn’t.
And that is what grounds me right now.
**
So this is the moment it all starts. The untangling. And I tell you all those little details because I want to be real with you. I promised I’d be real with you. I mean, I almost want you to feel like you just read a part of my diary. Or you overheard me talking to my best friend. And I want you to feel that way because I know that self-help books sometimes have a stigma. And maybe the reason that stigma develops is because most of the time, they can seem sort of, textbook. Cold. Hard to apply.
And it probably doesn’t help that generally, when we arrive at the place where we actually need self-help books, things are already tough. We’re already struggling. And so when we start reading, we find the do this and try that doesn’t really come with any significant context about how it all feels. In the beginning. In the middle. When we haven’t quite figured out how to heal or grow. And we’re just treading water in the middle of a hurricane trying our best not to drown. So the way I see it, maybe we don’t need the roadmap as much as just the validation that it’s ok to feel the way we do.
However that is. At the beginning of the growth journey.
So, let me just start by telling you what I know you need to hear. Everything is going to be ok. It will be. I promise. And I also want you to know that one day you’re going to forgive yourself. For what you did. Or didn’t do. For how you feel. Or didn’t feel. We all make mistakes, love. We all act with our hearts first. We all hold on a little too long and a little too hard sometimes. And sure—we all eat a few lies when our hearts are hungry. That’s just how it works.
And look—I know my story isn’t your story. I also know that some of you will read this and say—she thinks that was hard? Please. And you know, I’m going to give you that freedom to decide how you will judge my story. Well—at least the part I’m sharing. But I honestly hope that’s not the angle you’ll take. Because how we get there is not the story I’m writing. It’s the beginning of the story I’m writing. And truth be told, the how is always going to be different. I mean, like we just talked about—maybe you got completely blindsided by someone you
