I thought I’d be over it by now.
I thought, by now, you would be nothing more than a distant memory—one that I could look back on with neutral acceptance. I thought I’d be “back in the game,” ready to meet someone new, fall in love, do it all over again.
But instead, I’m here, writing about you. Instead, I’m spending nights reliving our relationship, going over in my head how it all went so wrong. I’m moving on (I am), but I didn’t realize that this—this is what moving on would be like.
Moving on is going to the gym every morning at 7 a.m. It’s getting myself out of the bed, into workout clothes, and plugging in the loudest, most badass music to exercise to.
Moving on is crying myself to sleep on a Friday night.
Moving on is going out with friends. It’s laughing and retelling stories and connecting with people other than you—it’s remembering my life before you.
Moving on is coming home, tipsy off one too many glasses of wine and wondering what you are doing. Moving on is a 2 a.m. text. Moving on is waking up the next morning—f*ck, what did I send?
Moving on is apologizing. Over and over and over again. For the things I did, for the things you did. Moving on is never getting closure. Moving on is not understanding why they treated you that way, why you reacted so badly, and why and how the whole thing fell apart so quickly.
Moving on is asking for space. Moving on is wanting to keep talking anyway.
Moving on is remembering the day we met. It’s seeing your face looking up at mine, curious and friendly. It’s remembering our first date. It’s remembering how you texted me the next day saying, I haven’t felt this way about anyone in a long time. It was me smiling, thinking—not saying—the same.
Moving on is getting angry again, for the nine hundredth time, for all the things that went wrong. It’s wanting you to feel that pain, too. It’s wanting you to feel my hurt over and over because maybe making you feel what I feel will help.
Moving on is the people in your life telling you to read Pema Chödrön. You will feel better, they say. It’s finally listening to them and staying up past midnight with When Things Fall Apart in your lap, feeling your own life fall apart and then come together again, even if just for a moment.
“Most of us do not take these situations as teachings. We automatically hate them. We run like crazy. We use all kinds of ways to escape—all addictions stem from this moment when we meet our edge and we just can’t stand it. We feel we have to soften it, pad it with something, and we become addicted to whatever it is that seems to ease the pain.” ~ Pema Chödrön
Moving on is wanting to numb. It’s wanting to not feel all the things that you made me feel. All the things that I feel now, without you.
Moving on is texting an ex from before this ex and saying you miss them. Moving on is 500 steps back—one step forward. It’s finding out your ex-ex is in a new relationship and you feel like a complete fool for texting.
Moving on is remembering that there are people who love you, for you. It’s remembering that if it was meant to work out, it would have. Because people come and go in our lives for a reason. And even though they are apologizing now for all that went wrong, they had ample opportunity to make it right during the relationship.
Moving on is realizing you’re looking at everything through rose-colored glasses. It’s realizing that you tried so damn hard—for a long damn time—and that you broke up because it wasn’t working.
Moving on is realizing maybe you deserved to be treated just a little bit better. It’s realizing that you’ve learned what you don’t want in a relationship. It’s realizing that you are great! On your own and as a human being. It’s realizing that even if you’re not ready now to move on—you will.
You will be okay again, soon. You’ve moved on before, remember? And the pain was just as bad—worse, even. And you came out the other end alright. You fell in love again. And you will again, and probably again.
Or maybe you won’t.
“In the midst of loneliness, in the midst of fear, in the middle of feeling misunderstood and rejected is the heartbeat of all things, the genuine heart of sadness.” ~ Pema Chödrön
Maybe moving on is spending time with yourself. It’s remembering who you were before the relationship. It’s remembering that there was a reason someone fell in love with you in the first place. It’s a falling in love with yourself again (or maybe for the first time).
Moving on is moving into the space that now exists in your life. It’s not running away from it, but a steady and graceful dive into it, exploring it, and embracing it.
Moving on is all of this—the messy, dark, sad, beautiful, and brave moments that, together, might just allow you to, maybe soon, move on.