I had a call last week with J, our first time speaking to each other since we ended our relationship last July. I thought the strangest part would be what we would talk about. What do we say? We both knew the unspeakable questions. Were you seeing anyone? Have you found someone?
But when the call ended, the thing that stuck with me the most was that I hadn’t heard him say my name so much in a conversation before. It was nice hearing from you Alyssa. Alyssa, I’m so glad that you’re well. Alyssa. Alyssa.
8 years is a long time to be with someone.
When we first started dating, J mused that relationships only have two outcomes—either you get married or you break up. Both felt scary and permanent, and newly coupled, we decided to table those options for a later date, not knowing that it would take us 8 years to get there.
Sometimes, it just does take 8 years to get there. In the final months leading up to the end, J asked how could you be in a relationship for 8 years and just want to end it? It seems like a waste. For the most part, my relationship with J was loving and healthy.
The question I’ve been asking is how can you be in a relationship for 8 years and not know? There was always a part of my gut that felt uneasy. And the more time went on, I wasn’t sure if I was with J because we were actually right for each other, or if inertia kept us going, with no catastrophic event pushing us to change course.
When we finally made the decision to break up, I felt like I could breathe again. I felt immense relief in knowing that this would be the last time I’d disappoint him. They say your body knows, and it was true.
8 years is a long time to become someone.
Can you not miss a person, but still miss the person you were in relationship with them? It’s so strange how the grief has been hitting me 8 months later—randomly and fiercely. Grief over the loss of this identity. When you end an 8 year relationship, you lose the person you were with them—your unique blend of emotions, values, beliefs, and triggers.
And yet, the ending—or rather, transformation—of that identity was necessary. I didn’t have context on who I was outside of a relationship. Expectations, obligations, compromise and the desire to be a good partner outweighed any opportunity to figure out what I needed separate from that. I didn’t know what was coming from me and what was coming from this fear of being a bad person for wanting anything else.
8 months later
I recently was reminded of this quote from Untamed.
“Your job, throughout your entire life, is to disappoint as many people as it takes to avoid disappointing yourself.”
This has been a hard job to follow. Over the last 8 months of being single, I still don’t have a good grasp of my needs, and I’m even worse about expressing them. As palpable as it is now that the relationship needed to end, making one decision to listen to my gut hasn’t automatically made it easier to keep doing so.
I’m trying to remind myself that I have agency in choosing who I want to be with. I want to choose my partner because I know I want to be with them, not because I feel obligated to. I’ve had to learn that disappointing others and choosing myself doesn’t make me a bad person.
The reality is just that two good people can try their hardest and still not be right for each other.