Think Again Thursday: What NOT to Say to Someone Who Just Got Her Heart Broken

First of all, let me preface this by saying that many of you have been absolutely supportive and lovely in the middle of all of this. If you're worried that you said something offensive, most likely that means that you didn't because you are self-aware enough to even be thinking about it.

But, if you're wondering what are some of the most horrible, insensitive things to say to someone going through a break-up, I've made a list of the worst ones I've heard so far (some even from comments on this blog!)

1. "At least you had someone who loved you. Better to have loved and lost than never loved at all." Sorry, it's impossible to feel thankful for anything about my relationship with SCL at this point, especially its very existence. Right now I'm feeling like Eternal Sunshine of the Spotless Mind had the right idea. 
2. "Sometimes things in life aren't fair..realize that this guy has moved on several months before you. Pick yourself up and move on. He moved on from you." Perhaps it's getting overused but this one really deserves a big "FUCK YOU." So, basically what you're saying is get over him because he got over me? Oh, why I never thought of that. So glad you enlightened me to the fact that SCL doesn't love me anymore. 
3. "I kinda saw this coming...knew from your blog entry that he wasn't that into you." Another unhelpful "I told you so" and using that godawful line from that stupid book. "Not that into you" is reserved for first dates and three-month undefined relationships, not partners of two years. 
4. "The pain shows you that you are still alive." You know what else does? Me putting my fist into your face. 
5. "[SCL]'s kinda dorky and kind of a pretty boy." Insulting SCL's actual person is really intolerable to me because first of all, I love him and second of all, he was the person I chose to be with. So, insulting him is an insult to me.
6. "You seem to have a pretty negative view of men." Ha! Well, with a shitty father and now this shitty situation, I seem to have a pretty good reason to, don't I? 

Needless to say, any cruel or insensitive comments I receive in response to this or any post will NOT be published but might be featured in subsequent installments of "Think Again Thursday" for future mocking and cursing. So, if you're thinking about sending something insulting, I urge you to think again. 

What's a Single Girl to Do...with These?

I have several what I refer to as "boyfriend boxes" at my mom's house in Georgia. You know, the places where all your cute couple stuff goes to die after a break-up? The box you try to stuff all the crap you had together but can't quite part with? If only it were so easy to do that with the emotional baggage--box it up and store it in the closet, out of sight, out of mind.

One of the traditional break-up rules is to put away the couple crap. I've removed what I can from my living space that reminds me of the sweet times SCL and I shared. The bigger items--the couch, the table, the apartment itself--obviously have to stay put for the time being. Even though we were together for nearly two years, the box is pretty small. SCL was never one for random gifts or cards; those were for the big days--birthdays, Valentine's Day, anniversaries. I always looked forward to them because he made it a point to write me a sweet card that brought tears to my eyes. Until this Valentine's day when he simply wrote "Thanks for being a best friend." Red flag, anyone?

The box has been packed, (loosely) taped (to accommodate additional items I come across that have earned a place in SCL's boyfriend box), and stored under the bed. I even put my journals from the last two years in there. They weren't all about him, but his name pops up enough that I just didn't want to deal with it. Even if I don't look at the rest of the stuff ever again, those I know I'll want to keep. Before putting the box away, I read through some of his old cards, and I couldn't believe it. I couldn't believe how tender his words were, how thoughtful he'd been, how much he seemed to admire and cherish me. What happened to that person? I don't know when he checked out, but that's not the person I was in a relationship with a month ago.

So, the boyfriend box is stuffed, the reality about the bigger things has set in, but what about this?

The sexy lingerie. The lingerie I bought for him, for us. If I remember correctly, I bought this the summer after we started dating. Like a lot of guys, SCL was nervous in a lingerie store (too much pink, lace, and underwire for his taste), but I convinced him to come in and help me pick something out. As far as his tastes in lingerie go, he's pretty traditional--black, lace, silk, classy. When I saw this sexy little set, I knew I had to get it.

So, now what do I do with it? Do I throw it away? Seems like a waste. But wouldn't it be weird to save it for the next guy? Putting it in the boyfriend box seems kind of odd, too. For now, it's just sitting in the back of my underwear drawer, taking up space and occasionally showing up, constantly reminding me of my single girl status.

I miss the intimacy with SCL, and I don't mean just sex. I miss how he knew so many pieces of me, so many parts I never share with anyone else. The problem was he wasn't letting me into those private places of his heart and mind. That always bothered me. My willingness to let him in wasn't reciprocated. He never really trusted me. At first I thought it was just that he was more of a private person, and that I needed to give him more time. But as it turns out, he was never going to let me in. He did have something to hide.

Then, I have to ask, did we ever have true intimacy? I don't think so because it was mostly one-sided. I suppose, then, that I miss the illusion of intimacy with SCL. I miss believing that we really had everything going for us. As it turns out, we didn't.

A Public Affair

This Friday SCL and I had our first interaction in a public setting since the break-up. I was performing in a community production, and he came to see me. I saw him before the show and really wasn't phased by him being there, even when I was on stage. But when the show was over, that was when everything shifted.

He was there, waiting for me--to give me a hug, to congratulate me on a job well done. And it felt so normal for him to be there. In some ways I felt more supported and loved than I did when we were together. All of the feelings of comfort, familiarity, and support felt so good to me. I looked around and thought, what do the people in this room think of us? What does this look like? I knew the answer: it looked like we were a couple, a partnership, a team. And for the first time in many days, I wanted that again. In that moment I didn't care about all the ways he'd hurt me, how much pain he'd caused me, that he didn't communicate or affirm me. I wanted his familiarity back. I wanted his presence back. I wanted the life I'd grown accustomed to back.

We walked back to the Metro, rode back to our stop side-by-side, and walked back to our apartment hand-in-hand. "This is hard," I said. "I feel like we're together right now. This feels so normal." There was something quite different about being outside of the apartment together that made it feel like we were just as we were before all of this happened, when I still thought all was well, when I believed it was just a matter of time before he came around and decided he truly wanted me.

I cried and cried. Then I worried that if I continued crying SCL would think I couldn't handle this, that we couldn't see each other at all anymore. That we couldn't navigate a new way of handling this pain and transformation in our relationship. He held me as I cried. And as he held me, I felt completely alone. Yes, we were together physically, even touched each other, but I knew that he wasn't going to give me his heart. And I felt so horribly alone. I thought about how if he hadn't come to my performance, I wouldn't have had anyone there who knew me to say, "You were great up there." What loss to consider and to mourn.

He was the reason I was crying, and yet he was comforting me. But who else would? I can't comfort myself, can I? I can't hold myself, stroke my own head, pull me against my own chest, wrap myself up in my own embrace. And that place in his arms--that has been my place for so long. On Friday I still wanted it to be mine.

Eventually I put myself together and went to bed. Mostly I was worried that he'd think he needed to pull away, and I didn't want him to make yet another decision about what was really best for me, for us. I still want to try this new way of breaking up. Sometimes it's just really hard to be this strong.

You Say He's Just a Friend

This is a controversial topic, so I know all of you probably have very strong feelings about this:

Can you and should you be friends with an ex under any circumstances?

I know, I know. You're probably all shaking your heads, saying "Why, TNS, why? Why are you breaking yet another break up rule? You're still in contact with SCL, and now you're thinking about being friends? What's wrong with you, woman?"

Yes, yes. I hear you. I hear your judgment. I hear your cries. I hear you, I promise.

BUT--hear me out. I think I have some important points on this, wisdom I've gained from others, and some legitimate ways of thinking about this.

First, I think the the way our culture deals with relationships in general is just plain shitty. We love falling in love. We love getting attached. But as soon as things get tough and we get broken up with, we're out the door, cutting out the person from our lives, and thinking of moving on to bigger and better things. It's a very consumerist approach to relationships. They're disposable, they're replaceable, and if one doesn't work, we throw it out for an upgrade.

Now, while this "cold turkey," rip-off-the-Bandaid approach to a break-up seems much, much harder at first than remaining in contact with an ex, I would argue it is in fact much, much easier in the long term. So, you cry your eyes out for awhile, but eventually the ex works his or her way out of your system and you're no longer thinking about them. Out of sight, out of mind. Right? I've done this before, and I know this is how it often goes.

What we don't think about is how we can transform our relationships over time. We cannot seem to grieve the loss of the relationship and then allow it to be become a new kind of relationship. Instead we cut out the person with whom we were in the relationship because it's just plain easier than finding a new way to move in the world as acquaintances, friends, etc.

When I was in grad school, I suffered a trauma, and a professor there really stepped up as my support when I needed it. We became quite close as I confided in her, but eventually, once some time had passed and I was no longer in crisis, she expressed that it was no longer appropriate to continue to be that kind of support to me. She was a professor, I was a student, and we needed to engage each other in new ways now that the crisis had passed. She could no longer serve as a therapist, and I could no longer depend on her the way that I had.

I was devastated. No, I was PISSED! I was angry, hurt, needy, felt rejected, all of those "break up" feelings were right there, kicking me in the gut and making me feel horribly shitty. Here was the person who supported me most during a time when I was incredibly vulnerable, and now she was abandoning me. I imagined creating crisis just to maintain the relationship. I didn't want it to change. Sound like a break up? It really kind of was.

Now that some time has passed I can appreciate her a lot more, especially what she taught me about relationships. She was the one who introduced me to the concept of transforming relationships--that the tendency in our culture is simply to cut off, not to relearn how to be with someone. With she and I, it was awkward as hell. I resisted, pushed her boundaries, and made her so angry that she eventually said she couldn't talk to me anymore about it. I felt traumatized, betrayed, and alone. But eventually, I could see her in a public place and not freak out. I learned to say "Hi, how are you?" and talk casually. And I even got to the point where I could thank her for pulling away and teaching me so much.

So, I bring this wisdom with me now. I cannot resist the changes happening in my relationship with SCL. I cannot expect him to change his mind. I cannot forget that this was the most healthy decision he could make, and ultimately it was best for me to. But what I do hope is to eventually find a new way to be in relationship with him--not a desperate one, not one in which I'm trying to manipulate him to come back, but one that allows for a new relationship to emerge. A less intense, less intimate, but nonetheless meaningful relationship.

Is it possible? I'd like to figure that out. And if it isn't, you all can have the pleasure of saying "I told you so." And who doesn't love that?