I said I was leaving Utah and moving to the Midwest.
That was over two years ago and quite a bit has changed since then. I would love to say that I got my happy ending, at least in some form or fashion. Sadly, that didn’t happen.
In fact, next week will be the one-year anniversary of me moving out and into my own apartment. And that says enough to where I could actually end this post right there. I’m sure you can guess, though, that there is a whole lot more beneath the surface of that statement.
The obvious question then becomes, “What happened?” Well, long story short, I finally recognized that the two of us just did not approach our relationship with the same intent or vision.
I can promise you that I do not feel blasé about the breakup as that simple explanation might lead you to believe. In fact, before I made the decision to move into my own space last year, the depth of the unhappiness and heartache I felt was overwhelming. I felt like I was drowning and that my own home was not a safe space. Top that with living in a state where I had no emotional ties, outside of my partner, and no support structure of my own. My circle of friends, spread out across the country, didn’t know much more than the few frustrations I shared back then. I retreated from them, as I often do when things get really difficult.
I was lost.
Thankfully, I made the decision to get help, and will always be grateful for finding an amazing therapist right off the bat. She provided the safe space I needed to scream and cry and brain dump everything I was feeling. Working with her allowed me to actually process what was going in the relationship. She mentioned once that she didn’t really do a lot for me, but I respectfully agree to disagree with her on that.
Now, therapy did not push me to move out. In fact, I still tried to make the relationship work for months after my first therapy appointment. I shared the work I was doing and the things I discovered about myself, in an effort to encourage my ex to finally open up. He had sought out his own therapist by that time. While I assured him that he was under no obligation to share anything with me from his sessions, I hoped he would. I was desperate to find some way for us to finally start connecting and communicating more effectively. Unfortunately, he only shared vague pieces of his sessions, and repeatedly told me his therapist wasn’t giving him any “homework”. Sigh.
When the day came that I realized I needed my own space, I STILL wasn’t actually ending the relationship. I just knew I needed a place where I could get back what I had lost by putting all my effort into building a relationship with this man. I needed a place where I could find some peace and joy in my life again.
Two months after I moved into my own space, however, I ended the relationship.
To be continued…