A month after I ended my relationship, I went to a talk by Esther Perel at the 92nd Street Y. She polled the audience, as always, asking, “How many of you are in a relationship or married?” For the first time in a long time it wasn’t me. She then asked, “How many of you are single?” As I raised my hand, a tear ran down my face. I felt vulnerable. It seemed so official.
This may sound overly dramatic, but if you’ve ever gotten out of a long-term relationship, you know it’s traumatic and requires a heavy dose of deprogramming. Breaking up, even if it happened on your own, is like open heart surgery. Nothing prepares you for this kind of loss. Culturally, we leave no room for the complexities of relationship endings. Whether it’s family, friend or partner, we don’t acknowledge or honor the depth of such loss. After finishing, the main goal becomes achieving completion and moving on.
Let’s talk about rom-coms for a second. In romantic comedies, the heterosexual woman is often portrayed as having a “get back to me” phase, and men are portrayed as less emotionally complex. The narrative usually involves the woman taking time for herself, going on a trip, dating again, or having some wacky misadventures before meeting her next partner. Alternatively, she may end up living happily ever after, but alone, in a state of self-acceptance, independence and strength.
Hello. It’s a wonderful fantasy, but it’s not reality.
I wasn’t ready. I also thought it would be a rom-com. I have booked retreats. I was looking for myself. I practiced yoga. I was meditating. I am “back to myself.” Something like that. The end of my relationship forced me (again) to face many issues past, present and future. It was an algebraic equation: childhood + trauma + homosexuality + alienation/family breakdown = prolonged grief. What is the equation for your context?
Typically it is childhood + trauma + identity + social community + career + financial security + access to resources and healthcare. It is important to acknowledge all the factors present during any life transition, as ignoring one could result in missing out on a significant part of your story.
This is not some “happily ever after” love story. I’ve been lonely since Alex and I broke up. I wanted to take him back several times, but only when he didn’t want me back. I still think about him every day. I still dream about him at night.
I was alone for a long time. And it’s hard.
I have achieved great success at work. I made new friends. What about my self-confidence? I finally know who I am, have confidence in myself, and have achieved a self-determination that I can say I truly enjoy. But I remain stuck in a romantic relationship. Everyone I meet upsets me. Nobody communicates. It seems impossible to get someone interested enough to stick around. Plus, it’s not just other people. It’s me. I haven’t felt anything for a long time.
Birthdays and holidays were just terrible. They are 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 a mess. However, I’m glad I spent this time with them. They still felt like my family. He still felt like family.
The subsequent holidays were just as difficult. I was afraid of them. I missed his family (and still do). I missed our routines. I was missing someone to surprise with, someone to go holiday shopping with for cute gifts. Buy beautiful wrapping paper and elegant bows. (I used to give it my all.) The absence of such moments left a void; I really missed them. Alex felt the same way, and at this time of year my longing for these shared experiences was especially acute.
Oh my god, and don’t even get me started on Valentine’s Day! Alex and I had a tradition of making sushi and exchanging gifts. It was very nice and I was looking forward to it. So, I was not prepared for what it was like to be an observer rather than a participant in this stupid holiday. This really sucks.
I still miss Alex often. It’s not just him that I miss. This is a metaphor. This is the life we had. This is an opportunity to say “we”. “We” are doing this, “we” are going to see friends, “we” are going to France this summer. Instead of: “I booked the flights alone. I don’t know who I’m going with yet.”
Whenever I talk to people about these feelings, they immediately ask, “Do you think you’ve gotten over it yet?” When they do, I will scream to myself, politely saying, “I think so.” But my relationship with Alex played such a huge role in my life that I don’t even know how it can be done. above something like that.
I know they think Wow, he’s still not himself.
But we don’t get above a loss; we are moving through this, but the loss remains with us. If you lose a family member, can you just move on and get over it? No. Your life is changing. You add to your life, and the loss turns into something smaller and more manageable that you may not even think much about. But the loss remains. Alex was my family and losing him was very important. Will I be able to “move on”? Will meeting someone change my new perspective on my relationship with them? There is no doubt that time and new experiences will bring healing and change. However, the memories of our time together will stay with me forever.
It is undeniably difficult to be alone, but culture, family and friends rarely provide us with the opportunity to cope with the emotional difficulties that accompany living alone. Instead, there are all these simplistic phrases that express implicit judgment—comments like “You should like being single” or “Maybe you should like yourself more.” They are merely reminders of society’s expectations of independence and grief rather than empathy.
Some people actually “move on” by no longer feeling preoccupied with thoughts of their ex. Others don’t. Neither answer is inherently “healthier” than the other. You might think Well, I I’d rather never think about them again. But our feelings are not a matter of choice. We must accept where we are, endure it, and resist the urge to judge ourselves based on some imagined ideal. It’s a mistake 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.
It is often through (and not through) pain and grief that we learn the most about ourselves and what it means to be alive. While leaving my relationship was difficult, realizing who I was as an independent person without any relationship to shape my identity was even more difficult. Here I became myself.
Rodale Books
Excerpt from HOW TO LOVE SOMEONE WITHOUT LOSSING YOUR MIND Todd Baratz. Copyright © 2024 Author: Todd Baratz. Used with permission Rodale Books, 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.