|Photo courtesy of Erica, taken during our Bachelor-like stroll down the beach.|
Seriously, have you guys tried this stuff before? It totally sucks, right?
There's no good way to talk about it. I've tried writing a post about it three times now, each with their own separate angle...the classy "It was amicable, it was the best thing for both of us" angle...the self-deprecating "Haha, from single to insta-family to single again, HAHAHA!" angle...and the one that we always want to write, even when we know it's wrong: The feel-good, get-the-poison-out, "He was a FUCKING ASSHOLE and I'm so much better off WITHOUT HIM!" angle.
But none of those are entirely accurate (especially the last one - I would never call Chris an asshole) or fair, or do justice to what happened.
So instead, I will just say this:
Things changed. We had this amazing relationship and we really, really loved each other. Neither of us feels, still, that we moved too fast or made the wrong decisions in the beginning - everything we did felt right at the time, and looking back, it still feels that way. And things hummed along swimmingly for a long time. But we - separately and together - had a lot to overcome, and after a while it felt like we had to overcome everything all at once.
We both did our best.
We both hurt each other.
Life is easier and harder without him.
And there's always more that can be said, on both sides. But it all comes down to the fact that the things I am unapologetic about wanting from life are things that he is unapologetic about not wanting. So there's no going back, and that's that.
And so I just don't want to say any more about it.
Instead, let's just talk about me, mmkay?
I've been running on adrenaline these past couple of weeks, trying to get everything sorted and figured out and framed into some sort of new future. And let me just tell you: Being heartbroken and effectively homeless is probably both the most devastating and motivating experience I've ever had in my life. I am very, very lucky and so, so grateful to have a group of friends who circled the wagons as soon as they found out what had happened. They ushered me into their homes, cleared their schedules, opened their bottles of wine, and just let me...be. They let me talk when I needed to talk, and they let me be quiet when I didn't want to talk about anything. They kept me busy and distracted and left me alone at just the right times. They respected my wish to keep it quiet and private from others, and my wish to not drink in public for at least a week so I could save both them and myself the whole "crying into a glass of wine at the bar" classic scene of every break-up movie.
And you know what? While not knowing what I was going to do and having no real space to dissolve into a wet mass of tears for three days in a row was really hard, it was probably the best thing for me. For instance, the tenants of good guest behavior do not include buying a pint of Ben & Jerry's and camping out on your best friend's couch to cry, stuff your face, and watch Twilight movies...and while at the time that can seem like a real drag, it's also kind of great since you have to instead find other stuff to do with your time and those things usually include something productive and cathartic.
Like, let's say...figuring out what you're going to do with the rest of your life.
Right now I'm in L.A. I flew in yesterday morning, and Erica took me straight from the airport to the ocean. My original plan was to come here so I could sit on the beach and figure out how to become a new person, but as I stood in the sand with Erica, taking pictures of us staring thoughtfully into the horizon (ala "The Bachelorette Money Shot"), I realized I already knew. So I'm going to tell you about how I got there.
Which sounds boring, kinda. But it's kind of fun and weird and magical, actually.
Yet, since there is nothing worse than a monstrously long break-up blog post, you might have to make this a regular hang-out to hear about it.
Because the blogging's back, bitches.
And I mean back.