I still remember my first break up. I had a note passed to me in the corridor after a high school history class which said that the love of my life (because we obviously all think that when we’re young) no longer wanted to be my boyfriend. I was devastated. The world as I knew it seemed to end the second I unfolded that square of paper. Well let me tell you, all these years later, it doesn’t seem to get any easier.
In my 36 years, I’ve experienced three major break ups – not counting the high school heartbreaker. One in my teens, one in my 20s and now one in my 30s (doesn’t bode well for my 40s, does it?). I’ve had the tragic first real love break up, the divorce, and now the end of what I thought was my happily ever after.
The major difference this time round is that as an adult, you don’t have time to fall apart. You have responsibilities and all of the matter-of-fact stuff you need to get on with, like who gets the dog, who keeps the sofa and which tv is going with who. You still have to get up and go to work – the world doesn’t stop, no matter how much you want it to. You can’t even fall into the tubs of ice cream because your figure doesn’t bounce back like it did in your 20s.
Break ups just aren’t what they used to be.
It’s now been three months since I broke up with my partner of eight years, and some days still feel pretty tough. I absolutely did not expect to be starting over again in my 30s, and the layers of self-doubt, and disappointment on top of the heartbreak feel crushing at times.
I think what makes it worse that we were both so nice about it. It wasn’t a lack of love, or that one of us went off to greener grass, it was purely the fact that we grew apart knowing we couldn’t commit to giving each other what we wanted. And that’s sometimes the saddest thing – knowing we nearly made it.
We’ve both approached it with very level heads – we’ve been sensible and considerate. There have been no arguments or shouting. Does that mean the emotion will hit us harder further down the line? Maybe. I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ve shed more tears than I can count, but it’s not festered as hate or anger, it’s just pure sadness.
Finding myself now single and living on my own for the first time ever – it gives you a lot of time (sometimes too much time) to think. That inner voice of self-deprecation seems to have increased in volume, reminding me that time is ticking away and that I’m certainly not getting any younger. Seeing the majority of my friends settled with partners and babies, makes me feel a bit like Tom Hanks in Big. I look like an adult but clearly, I don’t seem to have any idea what I’m doing.
Adjusting to a home of my own is bizarre, having no one to chat to on an evening or a weekend is an odd feeling. Sometimes I don’t hear my own voice for hours, and for anyone who knows me personally, they will know that’s a rare occurrence! Sometimes the peace and quiet is heavenly but honestly are we as humans made to live solo? We crave being part of a tribe, we need that company right? I definitely think I need than companionship… But for now, I’m trying to relish this time to live on my terms, learning to love my quirks and be comfortable on my own.
Part of me doesn’t want to bother with matters of the heart anymore. If I don’t fall in, I can’t fall out right? I’m not sure I could go through it all again. Maybe that will change as time moves on.
I don’t think anyone goes into a relationship expecting it to end, and I certainly didn’t. This break up isn’t what I signed up for and this heartache isn’t what I thought my 30s would be defined by, but I suppose if there is one thing the last few years has taught us is that you never know what is round the corner.
The only thing I do know is Neil Sedaka was right… “Breakin’ up is hard to do”
and she said 