It’s been seven months. Seven full months since I broke up with my boyfriend of seven years. In ways it doesn’t seem that long, and in other ways it seems like so much longer. It’s funny how you think you’re over it a few weeks after it happens, but you realize much later that you were pushing it back, not dealing with it. When I think back to how I was those first few months, a few things strike me.
I never cried.
The day we broke up, I went to stay with a friend. I drove and met her where she was visiting another friend, and I felt… relieved.
For weeks I was relieved, but I also felt bad. I felt constantly guilty for breaking up with him. I felt like he was acting like a child, and I truly didn’t want him to hate me. But I was having a good time on my own, working out, eating right, and generally feeling great.
Then came the anger. He pulled a real dick move while we were trying to move out of our shared apartment, and he was it became very clear that he had taken the view of ‘I had seriously wronged him’ and he was the wounded party. I mean come on. Seriously? Lame. We were together for seven years and I honestly believed that we could be grown ups about it. No one cheated. No one got ‘dumped’. Our relationship had been ending for some time, and we both knew it. I may have finally called it, but it was a mutual decision. So how am I the bad guy?
But it helped me move on. After some anger, I decided that if he was only going to think about him, then I was only going to think about me. I focused on my life, and stopped trying to have anything to do with him.
But there is one thing that comes up once in a while. I miss him.
Now let me be clear. I don’t regret ending our relationship. I am soooo much happier than I’ve been in years. I don’t want to hook up and have sex, or complicate things. But for seven years, he was my best friend. I told him everything. I miss that part of him. I miss talking to him. I miss having someone who knows me that well. I miss hearing about his day. I miss helping him fix his bike, or going out for breakfast on the weekend. I miss the friend stuff.
And that’s still what I hope for. I understand that he decided to act a certain way after the split up, but I hoped and still hope that he’ll talk to me. I truly don’t understand how you can be with someone for seven years, and just walk away. When we broke up, it was a conversation. It was over. We knew it was over. There was no drama. If he felt a different way, he certainly never said it. I feel it’s not fair, but I’m not going to push it. I respect his right to act in any way he needs too. I respect his right to move on in the way that works best for him. And maybe this is the difference between girls and guys. I still worry about him, but he’s made it clear that he only worries about himself.
It makes me sad now. I went from relief and guilt, to anger, to uncaring and now to sadness about the loss. Did I handle things well? I have no idea. But I have never once felt regret. I made the right choice. My life now confirms that. I only wish he understood that I was truly doing the only thing I could do, and it wasn’t about hurting him. It was ensuring that we would both have the best chance for happy futures.