The Strength in Leaving
On Thursday I spoke to Noelle on the phone about Josh. “But what if he changes? What if he gets better? He’s working on himself, he really is…” she said. I heard some iteration of this said three times in one day, on phone calls with three strong, empowered women I admire. They had each called me to talk about their relationships with their boyfriends, which they had begun to question after seeing me post on Instagram about my breakup. While I was in a healthy and loving relationship for three years, I simply didn’t want to be in it anymore. It may have been my desire to explore my queer identity, or that the differences in our interests/values became more apparent over quarantine, or my yearning to be single and get to know myself better, or the nagging feeling in my stomach that this relationship had run its course. Whatever the reason, I ended the relationship and have spent the past few months healing, feeling, and working on my relationship with myself. Nothing bad happened to prompt this breakup: my ex-boyfriend never cheated on me, never raised his voice, never said a mean word to me. He was nothing but kind and caring. It simply wasn’t what I wanted.
We’re told, constantly, by our society, that being in a relationship is inherently and always superior to being single. We assume that if we have the option to be in a relationship, we should choose it, and that if we are single, there is something wrong with us. It must be because we can’t find someone, not because we don’t want to find someone. If we are in a healthy relationship with someone who treats us well, we’re told we’ve hit the jackpot: we have nothing to complain about, and we should be grateful for what we have. But the week before my breakup, I was on the phone with a friend, crying. I couldn’t figure out how to justify breaking up with someone who had been so wonderful, who had supported me every day when my best friend died, who pulled all nighters with me in the hospital, who was a text away from showing up at my door whenever I needed him. “How can I justify ending it with someone who did all that?” I asked, sobbing in the dark. “You say that as if it is the gold standard. In reality, it should be the baseline. You should expect anyone you’re in a relationship with to treat you well, and to be there for you during tragedies. You probably shouldn’t marry the first person who treats you right,” she said. She reminded me that we’re in our early twenties — we’re still so young — and to justify spending so much time and energy on a relationship during these years of our lives, it better be a pretty unbelievable one.
Those friends I spoke with on the phone, however, were all facing much more serious trouble in their relationships, whether it was emotional abuse or cheating. But they struggled to believe the way their boyfriends treated them was “bad enough” to break up. They brought up every possible empathetic justification for their behavior (“he’s just been through so much”). But I explained that firstly, their reasons are valid. But even more importantly, they do not need a reason; something terrible doesn’t need to happen to justify a breakup. If they felt that they did not want to be in the relationship anymore, that would be reason enough to leave. They feared how other people would see them, how they would be perceived, and how the boyfriend would respond.
As women, we’re taught to spend our lives adjusting our actions to be palatable and pleasing to others. Knowingly making a decision that would make others (especially those we care about) unhappy, is unspeakably difficult (at least for me). When I broke up with my ex, family members and friends called me in tears, upset that I ended the relationship because they loved him so much. I had to learn how to steel myself, and stay strong with the decisions I knew were right for me, even if they couldn’t see the full picture. I reminded my friends that this is their life, and they do not exist to make others happy. If they don’t look out for themselves, who will? You have a right to do what’s best for you, you have a right to make decisions in your life that are only about your happiness and wellbeing, and you have a right to care about yourself.
That same day, I received many messages from women who were deciding to break up with their partners. A similar theme arose in these messages: the fear of being alone. First, I’ve realized that being single is not the same as being alone. While I don’t have a romantic partner for the first time in years, I’ve actually never felt less alone. Being single gave me the time and energy to delve deeply into my friendships and connections with family members. I’ve been more in touch with my support system than ever, and the conversations I have with them fill my heart. At the same time, being single has allowed me to truly nurture my relationship with myself. When dating someone, I don’t often have to deal with the dark corners of my mind: I can easily be distracted from my negative thoughts, and often focus my attention on the other person’s problems and ignore my own. After my breakup, I was shocked by the quiet, the strangeness of having to confront and work through whatever feelings came up, especially sadness, frustration, and fear. But slowly, as I continued to adhere to my boundary of not communicating with my ex to avoid relying on him, healing began to occur. I was literally forced to build a relationship with myself: to learn what makes me sad and what makes me feel better. To understand what I need when my heart hurts, and how to provide that for myself.
“But I’m afraid of the pain,” Noelle whispered, her voice cracking through my earphones. “I’ve felt heartbreak, and I don’t know if I can handle feeling that again,” she said. “I know, I know.” I replied, because I didn’t have a good answer for her. Ending her relationship will hurt, and it will be hard. I wasn’t going to lie. But she has a choice: make one really hard decision that will hurt badly now, and then heal, or endure a thousand small pains and regrets that will accumulate over years or even a lifetime.
I told her that if she makes the first choice, she will learn one of the most valuable, powerful skills: how to comfort and support herself. I’ve been learning to do this too, I told her. After my breakup, I made a list of things that make me feel grounded and lift me up when I’m down. When my heart was aching with loneliness, I took to the guitar and piano and poured my feelings into haphazard songs. When I felt anxious and jittery, I’d take myself for a walk or run in the sunshine, or a bike ride through the woods. When I felt detached, I would make myself write out my thoughts on a google doc and then sit back and read them. When I was missing the closeness of a relationship, I called up my best friends and talked for hours. I’m a serial monogamist — I’ve been in some sort of relationship for most years of my life since I was 10 years old. Not being in a relationship forced me to learn how to support myself on a daily basis, and how to comfort myself when life gets overwhelming and things are tough. I want to emphasize, though, that this is a process: it wasn’t easy right away, and I had to let myself feel a lot of pain and ache to get to this point. You have to feel it; there’s no shortcut.
When I first picked up Noelle’s call, she expressed her condolences for my breakup. “I’m so sorry, that’s so awful,” she had said, kindly. But I assured her there was nothing to feel sorry for. Breaking up with him was a symbol of my personal growth, my inner strength, and listening to the voice inside me. Although it was sad to end something that had so many wonderful aspects, doing this affirmed my commitment to myself, my promise to intentionally live my life, instead of just going along with what is easy or what is expected of me. It was a decision that came from within my heart and mind, not an external source.
Breaking up with someone takes strength. It takes knowing and tuning into yourself. Choosing the unknown over the comfort, nostalgia, and familiarity of something you know so well is an incredible feat. Often, choosing to walk away is an act of bravery.
Saying “I’m sorry” when someone breaks up with their partner is a reflection of the societal assumption that being in a relationship is superior to being single. Our society bombards us with messages that being in a relationship is what we should all be striving for, and being single is just a transient state that you’re in when nobody wants to be in a relationship with you. How can you enjoy being single when you feel that it’s because you’re unworthy and because nobody wants to be in a relationship with you?
Being single is not a failure. It’s not an intermittent phase between partners, and it’s not just a state of searching for a relationship. Let’s normalize — no — celebrate being single and ending relationships that are not where we’re meant to be.
As I dive deeper into my relationship with myself, and have more time for creativity, adventures, exploration, self-expression, friends and family, I feel more and more comfortable, confident, and empowered. I have gotten to a point where I not only don’t need, but also don’t want to be in a relationship (at least for a long time). My goal is to become so comfortable with myself, so complete and fulfilled by myself, that I will never date someone to avoid being single. And when, or if, someone incredible comes around, I will know that I genuinely want — not need — to have them in my life. Until then, I will continue to deepen and treasure the most important relationship I will ever have, with the person who will be with me every day, as long as I live.
