A month after ending my relationship, I went to see Esther Pérel speaking at the 92nd Street Y. She polled the audience, as she always does, asking, “How many of you are in relationships or married?” For the first time in a long time, it wasn’t me. Then she asked, “How many of you are single?” As I raised my hand, a tear rolled down my face. I felt vulnerable. It seemed so official.
This may sound overly dramatic, but if you’ve ever de-associated from a long-term relationship, you will know that it is a trauma that requires a significant dose of deprogramming. Breakups, even when they’re self-inflicted, are like having open heart surgery. Nothing prepares you for this type of loss. Culturally, we don’t have room for the complexities of ending a relationship. Whether it is family, a friend or a partner, we do not recognize or honor the magnitude of such losses. After an ending, the conclusion and moving on become the main focus.
Let’s talk about romantic comedies for a second. Romantic comedies often depict a heterosexual woman in the “coming back to me” phase, with men portrayed as less emotionally complex. The narrative usually involves the woman taking some time for herself, going on a trip, dating again, or experiencing wacky misadventures before meeting her next partner. Alternatively, she could end up living happily ever after, but alone, in a state of self-acceptance, independence, and strength.
Welp. It’s a wonderful fantasy, but it’s not reality.
I wasn’t prepared. I too thought it would be a romantic comedy. I booked retreats. I searched for myself. I practiced yoga. I meditated. I “came back to myself”. Well, sort of. Ending my relationship forced me to (again) face a variety of past, present, and future challenges. It was an algebraic equation: Childhood + trauma + being gay + family estrangement / breakup = prolonged grief. What is the equation for your context?
Typically these are childhood + trauma + personal identity + social community + career + financial security + access to resources and health care. It’s important to recognize all the factors present during any life transition, because neglecting any of them could lead to leaving out 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 several times, but only when he didn’t want me back. I still think of him every day. I still dream of him at night.
I’ve been alone for a long time. And it’s hard.
I have had great success at work. I made new friends. And my self-confidence? I finally know who I am, I’m confident, and I’ve landed on a definition of myself that I can say I truly love. But I’m stuck romantically. Everyone I date frustrates me. Nobody communicates. It seems impossible to interest someone enough to make them stay. Plus, it’s not just about other people. It’s me. I haven’t felt anything in a long time.
Birthdays and holidays have been absolutely horrible. They are just reminders of my loss and loneliness. My first Christmas without Alex was terrible. I of course spent it with Alex; We cried. His family expressed their wish for us to stay together. Alex and I made love. It was a mess. Nevertheless, I am happy to have spent this time with them. They always felt like my family. He always felt like family.
The following vacations were just as difficult. I feared them. I missed his family (and still do). I missed our routines. I missed having someone to surprise with, to do holiday shopping with and cute gifts. To buy beautiful wrapping paper and fancy bows. (I used to do everything.) The absence of such moments had left a void; I missed them a lot. Alex felt the same way, and at these times of year my desire for these shared experiences was particularly acute.
OMG and don’t even get me started on Valentine’s Day! Alex and I had this tradition where we made sushi and exchanged gifts. It was very sweet and I used to look forward to it. So, I was not prepared for what it would be like to be an observer and not a participant in this stupid vacation. It was really bad.
I still miss Alex often. It’s not just him that I miss. That’s the metaphor. This is the life we had. It’s being able 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 I’m going with yet.
Whenever I talk to people about these feelings, they don’t hesitate to say, “Do you think you’re over it?” When they do, I will internally scream while politely saying, “I think so.” But my relationship with Alex has played such an important role in my life that I don’t know how anyone can on something like that.
I know they think, Wow, he’s still not over it.
But we don’t get on loss; we move through but the loss remains with us. If you lose a family member, will you just move on and get over it? No. Your life changes. You add value to your life and the loss evolves into something smaller and more manageable, something you may not even think about much. But the loss remains. Alex was my family and his loss was significant. Will I “move on”? Will meeting someone new change my view of my relationship with them? There is no doubt that time and new experiences will bring healing and change. Nonetheless, the memories of our time together will always stay with me.
It’s undeniably difficult to be alone, but culture, family, and friends rarely provide us with the space to navigate the emotional challenges that come with being single. Instead, there are all these reductive phrases that convey implicit judgment – comments like “You should love being single” or “Maybe you need to love yourself more.” They only serve as reminders of society’s expectations of independence and grief rather than empathy.
Some people “move on,” 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 would choose to never think about them again. But our feelings are not a matter of choice. We must accept where we are, tolerate it, and resist the urge to judge ourselves against some imagined ideal. It’s a false assumption to think that if you stop thinking about your ex, your life will automatically improve. Life will remain complex and difficult, regardless of who occupies your thoughts.
It is often through (not around) pain and grief that we learn the most about ourselves and what it means to be alive. Although ending my relationship was difficult, discovering who I was as an independent person without any relationships that could shape my identity was even more difficult. This is where I became myself.
Rodale Books
Extract of HOW TO LOVE SOMEONE WITHOUT LOSSING YOUR HEAD by Todd Baratz. Copyright © 2024 by Todd Baratz. Used with permission from Rodale Books, an imprint of Random House, a division of Penguin Random House LLC, New York. All rights reserved. No part of this extract may be reproduced or reprinted without written permission of the publisher.
