Three weeks ago, just days after my 20th birthday, my partner of two years abruptly dumped me. Just like that, gone was the security of never having to download a dating app, find a post-grad roommate or reveal the most vulnerable parts of myself to a new partner. As I sit here pondering what relationship advice I have to offer readers this week, I can’t help but get caught up in the whirlwind of emotions that has plagued my entrance into this new decade. The breakup has been shell-shocking, raw and grueling.
Prior to the breakup, I had already been feeling uneasy about leaving my teenage years behind. Since coming to college last year, I’ve been clinging to remnants of my youth — the subtle scent of my Massachusetts home on my laundry, lengthy phone calls with my parents and most prominently, my long-distance high school sweetheart.
Recently, however, all these relics of a pre-college life have grown more distant as I’ve grown into my life in Charlottesville. I’ve purchased new clothes, made new friends and come into a more mature identity. Most notably, I’ve wondered if the boyfriend I had met at 16 would be someone I carried with me through the rest of college and into my 20s — the decade of searching for jobs, living in new cities and finding yourself.
Despite these contemplations, I was still shocked when my ex dumped me. Now, I feel devastated by the loss of my partner, our teenage years together and, most strikingly, the habit of him. I miss the “goodnight, I love you” texts and getting ready for our routine FaceTime. It feels wrong not to have visits to count down to nor dates to look forward to. And I don’t know what I’ll do to fill the mundane hours at home during school breaks if I can’t spend every waking moment with him. I’ve fallen into a way of life shaped by a relationship that, now, no longer exists.
Over the past few weeks, I have experienced nothing short of the stages of grief — grief for both the person I loved and the version of myself that I had lost in the process.
At first, there was denial on both ends — we continued to text and call every day to reassure each other that we had made the right decision, but we clearly still both craved the comfort of the other’s company. I was even bargaining with my own thoughts, mulling over all the reasons why we could change our minds and make things work.
After denial came the anger, and I shut him out. I couldn’t understand how he could have chosen to end things after we had invested so much time in each other. This rage undulated with waves of sadness. I’m usually a pretty composed person, but there I was, standing in the middle of a frat basement dance floor last Friday, tears streaming down my face as I thought back to all the nights I had spent with him.
Perhaps the most glossed-over stage of grief, but the one that affected me the most, was uncertainty. For weeks, I lived in a constant state of anxiety, stressing over whether to download dating apps or rebound with a casual hook-up. There’s also, of course, the unease that comes with comparing my new, prospective partners to my ex, thinking about how they emulate his best — and worst — qualities.
After a good two weeks of time wallowing in indecision, I am finally beginning to come to terms with the breakup and phase into acceptance. Rather than seeking out a replacement romance, I’m spending time healing my relationship with myself.
Looking back on the time I had spent with my boyfriend, I’ve realized that my sense of self was entangled with him in a pretty unhealthy way. In hindsight, I am perplexed by how, at such a young age, my life plans could have so intensely revolved around another person. But then again, it was just so easy to blithely latch myself onto someone who loved me. I believe the tricky thing about having fallen in love so young was that I didn’t have a grasp on how deep was too deep, how soon was too soon and how far was too far — a bind that made me grow distant from my own self.
This reflection has made me realize something equally poignant and important — I miss being my own individual person, with her own interesting character and unique set of goals.
While I was prioritizing my boyfriend’s needs, I felt like I couldn’t fully actualize a confident, multi-faceted version of myself. I stopped trying new foods to manage his inside-the-box preferences. I did not allow myself to experience art, music and travel to accommodate his lack of adventure — a trait of mine that I cherish. I stopped experimenting, exploring and entertaining to settle for what would be “comfortable” for him, and by association, myself. Through these choices, I suffered the loss of my individual, authentic self. Now, “me” is all I am striving to get back.
I have learned to enjoy a quieter evening brain-dump, journaling rather than narrating my days to my ex over the phone. And I’ve started to cook more, experimenting with new recipes, and I’m enjoying nice meals with good friends.
Still, I am not disillusioned from the fact that the sight of romantic notes in my desk drawer will continue to sting, and that impulsively checking my messages from him will take time to fade from muscle memory. And that’s okay — such time will come.
So yes, I am 20 and freshly single. That’s a clause I didn’t think I’d be writing in a column, but it’s a truth I am embracing more and more each day. I am my own new-and-improved person to fall in love with, and I now have the time and the perspective to do her right.
Gosh, at this point, I am loving dating me.
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