In 2019, I started dating someone I thought was the one. We had the perfect story, we'd taken the perfect trips, we seemed so good on paper.
And then he broke up with me.
The whole time we were dating, I'd been itching to write something about what a wonderful whole life is. That every part of our story comes back to us in a generously holistic way that makes us feel at peace with how everything else in life has gone.
I didn't write that.
Instead of finding the whole I thought I'd started to see glimpses of, I was just seeing holes.
And instead of writing about the lovely whole, I decided to write about the holes.
Breakups, separations, and divorces are not something we easily bring up in conversation. We might fear we'll cry, others will feel awkward, or we just don't know what to say about it yet. But by talking about them, we make space for others to do the same, to find sanctuary in their hours of hurt, to feel community with others who have had their hearts broken.
Shall we start at the beginning?
Breakup 1
I was 18 and thirsty for relationship experience after spending all of high school pining after someone who told me he liked me but Jesus more and so I couldn't distract him. I wanted something more than the intimate passing of notes in middle school or the overeager smiles and easy giggles in high school. During my first month of starting college, I met a guy who ran and was good at ultimate frisbee (which were basically the only things I cared about at the time) so I tried to flirt by leaving things like potatoes at his doorstep and contrary to sound logic, this worked and we started dating on Mole Day (an October holiday, for those who don't celebrate). I quickly realized that in my mind, this relationship was "practice" for me and "reality" for him. I broke up with him right before finals in December.
How did I feel?
I didn't cry. I mostly just felt sweet relief. And a little guilt after finding out he hadn't done super well on his finals.
What did I learn?
I didn't know squat about relationships.
Breakup 2
I was 19 and looking for something a bit more real. I met someone who fit every image I'd ever had growing up of what my husband was supposed to be. We wrote each other every week for two years when we both went on LDS missions to Europe. When we were both home at age 21, I flew to Arizona to see him and we decided to date. I'm not sure if I can actually really count this because it lasted a weekend and then I didn't hear from him for a couple of weeks. When I finally got a hold of him, he told me he actually wasn't ready to date anyone seriously, but to check back in 6-8 months. We went on occasional dates for the next couple of months and remained cautious friends.
How did I feel?
I cried on my porch for a few hours and was confused and upset for weeks, which included randomly showing up at his apartment one night with my razor scooter and some tea bags because I needed to tell him I still loved him. Alas, this yielded only a very heavy embarrassment hangover the next day.
What did I learn?
Sometimes love is hard. Sometimes vulnerability isn't enough.
Breakup 3
I was 22 and hurting from Breakup 2. A friend I had met while on my LDS mission in Germany offered the promise of relationship stability and it was comfortable and easy. Until he told me that he wanted a stay-at-home-wife and if I wanted to work, that wasn't going to work. And by the way, if I supported gay marriage then there was something wrong with my religiosity because didn't prophets tell us it was wrong and so why wasn't I listening.
It was a mutual breakup (and also started the clock on a faith transition, so thank you Breakup 3!).
How did I feel?
I cried that night and told my roommates that I was an old maid and no Mormon guy was going to want to date a liberal and if I hadn't met anyone by 22, I wouldn't ever. I felt better after a couple days and realized it was good we'd ended things.
What did I learn?
You can get along with someone and not want to marry them.
Looking back, I also realize a lot of the negative emotions I felt from dating and breakups in my early 20s came from religious and cultural pressure to marry young(er).
Breakup 4
I was 23 and still believed the cultural lie that I was an old maid and worth less without a romantic partner. A friend of a friend took a keen interest in me and gave me two months of feeling giddy and admired and also finally taught me how to really kiss (#latebloomer). He then accorded me a month of feeling frustrated and conflicted and neglected. I broke up with him and he moved away a couple months afterwards.
How did I feel?
Like I'd made the dumbest decision. I cried for weeks at random times of every day, I couldn't sleep past 5:30am because I was anxious, I worked out for 3-4 hours a day because I had all of this excess energy and angst and also in case you were wondering the guy didn't want me back even though I tried to convince him we should give it another go.
What did I learn?
I hadn't made the dumbest decision. It is in our weaknesses that our character is shown and tested and it's okay to make decisions to see how they feel and then try to change those decisions but ultimately accept the choices of others (and for the record, I should have trusted my gut: we were not the best match and I knew it).
Breakup 5
I was 24 and had just graduated from BYU, single. I wanted to pass the time without the same emotional trauma of the last relationship ending so I started dating someone I didn't want to marry, just have fun with. After three months, I got fed up with feeling that I was being treated like garbage from someone who claimed to love me and broke up with him.
How did I feel?
Sad but relieved. Until I realized the break hadn't been clean because he still wanted to spend time with me and cuddle and kiss and then all of the sudden he was informally proposing and I was hella freaked out because what if this was my only chance to get married? I said no after intermittently crying in busses and hotel rooms as I roamed around Europe with a friend before starting graduate school.
What did I learn?
I deserve to be treated like someone worthy of love and respect because I am worthy of love and respect. I can be happy and single just as easily as I could be married and sad.
Breakup 6
I was 25 and had recently moved from Utah to Indiana. I dated someone I knew had liked me from our first meeting and seemed nice though naive and unwilling to engage in many of the taboo discussions I've always craved. I didn't think I wanted to marry him and after three months of liking being with him but then not thinking about him or missing him when I wasn't with him, I broke things off.
How did I feel?
I cried until 3am the night of the breakup and woke up at 6am to cry some more. I cried on a bus and felt like I hadn't really tried in the relationships. But then after 24 hours I was fine and glad I'd pulled the bandaid off because I needed to get out of the relationship.
What did I learn?
I need someone who matches me, someone I can work toward common goals with equal(ish) momentum; I crave intellectual and emotional closeness that physical closeness fails to satisfy.
Breakup 7
I was 26. Guy from Breakup 2 texted me on Christmas and spent the next several months telling me how much he had missed me over the past four years, how no one compared to me, how he was going to move to Indiana to continue to try to woo me so we could get married because the timing was finally right. He was still everything I'd wanted, but I wasn't the same naive 19/20 year old I was when we'd originally connected. I'd tasted a little more passion from other relationships and he sensed I always wanted more of something. While we were dating, he took me ring shopping, discussed what we wanted to name our future children, when would work best for our wedding. And then six months later told me that he didn't actually feel a spark with me, that he didn't desire me in the way he thought he would, that no, he wasn't gay, he just wasn't "viscerally" attracted to me.
How did I feel?
Like my world was ending. Like I'd been duped. Fool me once, shame on you. Fool me twice, shame on me. Confused, hurt, rejected, and ashamed. Because I felt like I couldn't keep a guy around longer than a few months and if someone as fully functional as this guy didn't want me and I didn't want anything less than him, who was left? It felt like the thing that was supposed to be, the thing that started eight years ago that was supposed to make a perfect whole, just left me with a hole in my heart.
What did I learn?
Do look a gift horse in the mouth.
More importantly, I learned about the importance of community in the aftermath of an emotional windfall like this one. I am remarkably blessed in my friendships. I felt so overwhelmed with the quality and quantity of love that people have shown for me every time I came out of a relationship. You'd think I'd have felt like a pro at breakups, but they hurt like hell every time. I had so many people offer to listen to me just be sad. My mom patiently picked up my distressed phone calls even when I’d called multiple times a day still crying. A dozen people even sent me artless haikus and pictures of mountains when I asked for them on my Instagram stories. This was the very breakup I talked about fairly openly as it was happening, in part because I knew of no other way to make sense of it. Because of this forced vulnerability, I experienced so much support and love from others.
We don't talk about breakups very often. They're painful and awkward. There's a lot of silent suffering going on as you feel like your heart is being shredded up inside of you and all of your expectations for the future are being ground to dust while you hold yourself in the fetal position thinking pessimistic thoughts. You feel like other people are disappointed in you, you question your ability to be romantically loved or to be able to give that kind of love. You want everyone to know the relationship is over but you don't want to be the one to tell people. You cry in grocery stores or on walks and feel obligated to explain to strangers that it's not the tomatoes or the trees that are causing you to weep but rather your life feels like an emotional dumpster fire so please just carry on. Your friends and family assure you that you will find someone eventually, that the right person just hasn't come along, but you know that love is not a meritocracy and that being beautiful, smart, kind, funny, and financially savvy does not guarantee you a partner + statistically speaking not everyone who wants to get married will. It's hard to convince yourself there's a point in doing anything anymore.
I wanted to think that Breakup 6's relationship was the one that would show me the beautiful whole. I believed in its certainty. But it left me in the same place; sobbing on multiple friends' couches while they scratched my back and told me it wasn't okay right now but it would be okay at some point and while we wait for that let's make petty yet cathartic lists of why this guy wasn't good for me. I don’t know if we get to see the whole in this life. I think we might just get glimpses of the whole that can seem more like a series of random holes. But holes are how the light gets in and they are worth sharing with our loved ones. It's these raw and painful moments that have the power to pull people toward us, if we let them.
I ended up meeting my now-husband shortly after that breakup, but I like to keep that story separate. It's part of the whole, but it's not the endpoint or the entirety of my story. The whole is much more than a single story.
There are lots of holes in life, but maybe those are just glimpses of the whole, a whole we can only find by sharing our stories and listening to others' stories.
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