I told myself I was done with love. That happily ever after was a myth, because no matter how much you love someone, it simply won’t last. I wasn’t swearing off men, or even dating. I had just finally accepted the liberating truth that long term relationships don’t work. And so I readied myself for a fulfilling life as a single woman. Happy to date, willing to love – but not to commit.

I was 24, and had just ended a 4 year relationship with a man I was once certain I would marry. We’d slowly grown apart, which came with the lonely realization that I wasn’t happy anymore. Even though I loved him deeply, I’d fallen out of love with him. A cliche no doubt, but true all the same.

But it wasn’t just that I’d lost the love – I’d lost myself, too. After so long with my partner, our lives so intricately enmeshed, I didn’t know who I was anymore. I didn’t know what I wanted from life, or where I was headed. My sense of self was so deeply reflected in him that I’d even begun to dress like him. My life didn’t feel like my own.

And that was the part that truly terrified me. It was the real reason I was swearing off relationships. I never wanted to lose myself again, and I was certain that staying single was the only way to make sure it didn’t happen.

Until I met Reece.

We were friends long before we dated. We met in the small desert town of Alice Springs, in the heart of Australia. Small towns being what they are, we ran into each other everywhere – the grocery store, a mutual friend’s birthday party, the local music festival. And every time I saw him, he took my breath away.

There was something about him that captivated me; his quiet, unobtrusive confidence; the way he held himself and held space for others; his mysterious, ocean-gray eyes that somehow inspired presence and emotional honesty. I’d never met anyone like him.

After a long, painful breakup of his own, Reece wasn’t interested in a serious relationship either. But we enjoyed each other’s company and the undeniable connection that we had, so we decided to start casually dating.

On our first night together we climbed the rocky outcrops on the edge of town to watch the sunset. On our scramble to the top, we spotted rock wallabies and firetail finches, sharing our common love of nature and bird watching. We held hands at the summit, watching as the sun dipped below the seemingly endless desert horizon. Then we ran and slid down the mountain path as fast as our giddy legs would take us, feeling bulletproof in the heady waves of a new romance.

Later that night, over homemade pizza and beers, we shared our first kiss. It was bliss.

What was meant to be a summer fling quickly flourished into a month-long romance. Then two, then three. Despite our best attempts to remain coolly detached, we’d fallen in love.

But the writing was on the wall. We’d spoken about our plans for the future many times – and they were irreconcilable.

He wanted to slow-travel through South-East Asia and was readying himself to leave. He had no intention of ever coming back to that small desert town. I on the other hand owned a house there and had a teaching job I was committed to. Although I intended to travel the next year, my plan was to eventually return to Alice Springs and pursue a career in politics. We knew our relationship couldn’t last, and we both wanted it that way.

Sure enough, Reece called me one unassuming Tuesday to break the news.

“I gave my notice today at work today. I’m done.”

My heart sank. Although I knew this was coming, it was still a shock. Part of me hoped he would choose to stay and be with me, but I also knew that he needed to go. I couldn’t be the reason he gave up on his dreams, any more than he could be the reason I gave up on mine.

To make the most of our final days together, he decided to hold off until my mid-year vacation, and we booked a 4 week trip to Thailand. From there he would continue his travel adventures, and I would come home to Australia. It was to be our first and only trip overseas together.

We spent the month enjoying the delights of tropical Thailand, explored the night markets of Chiang Mai, the hot springs of Ranong, and the limestone caves of Pang Mapha. We know our time together was limited, and we cherished every bitter-sweet moment of it.

Until our final day came.

Packing my suitcase in the morning, I was heavy with dread. By this point, my resolve was waning. We hardly spoke on the taxi ride to the airport, or once we got there. There was nothing we could say or do, but simply hold hands and wait.

As my flight drew closer we headed to the boarding gate, not realizing that Reece wouldn’t be allowed through. It was only when a security guard stopped us that the panic set in.

“Boarding passes, please.”

A hot, sickly rush ran through me as I realized what that meant. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not here. Not like this. I tried pleading with the security guard, but to no avail. This was the end.

We shared a last, long, tearful embrace before I gathered my things and walked, trembling, through the scanners. When I turned back to look at Reece on the other side, my heart broke. His face was white with grief, tears streaming down his face. I knew I looked just as distraught. I wanted to run back to him and tell him that we’d work it out. That I’d stay, or he could come with me. But I knew it wasn’t true. Instead, I drew a deep breath, trying to look stronger and more confident than I felt, and simply walked away.

The boarding lounge was full of families and travelers returning to Australia after their beach holidays. I felt exposed and out of place, and quickly walked to a quiet corner to slump down against a wall. I didn’t even try to hide my grief from the concerned onlookers.

After some time, a woman in her late 40s walked over and sat down beside me.

“I hope this is OK, but my daughter asked me to come over. She said you looked so sad, and she wanted me to come and check on you.”

I looked over at the woman’s daughter – a young girl of about 6. My heart swelled.

“Are you OK?” she asked gently.

I nodded, embarrassed, but also grateful for her sincere kindness.

“I just broke up with my boyfriend because we can’t be together. He’s moving away, and I’m staying in Australia.”

As the words stumbled out of my mouth, I winced. I could hear how dramatic I sounded. And yet the woman just smiled kindly.

“Oh sweetheart. I’m so sorry. Would you like a hug?”

I nodded sheepishly.

And so we sat slumped on the floor together. Although she never said it, I felt that somehow she knew exactly what this kind of heartbreak felt like. It felt good to be held in my messy, human vulnerability, literally crying on her shoulder.

“Love is a strange thing you know. If it’s meant to be, you’ll find a way,” she consoled.

“Maybe,” I said. She was being so kind, I didn’t want to disagree with her. At that point, I had no hope at all that I would ever see Reece again.

In the weeks afterwards, my heart ached. I missed our long hours spent talking about anything and everything. I missed the smell of his skin and the way my face nuzzled so perfectly into his neck. But I knew I’d made the right choice. I poured myself into my work, my hobbies and my passions. I spent time with friends, and with myself. I discovered how to be alone and truly happy in a way I’d never known.

I’d finally proven that I was strong enough to choose myself over the love of another. It was something I hadn’t known about myself, and the reason why relationships had terrified me so much. But by walking away from Reece, I’d claimed an unshakable level of self-love. For the first time in my life, I chose to put myself first, instead of sacrificing my own hopes and dreams for the sake of a relationship. And ironically enough, once I knew that I could commit to myself like that, I became free to commit to love.

As the weeks passed after our breakup, Reece and I started to talk again. A few sporadic messages to begin with, and then regular Skype calls in the evening. Eventually, we got honest with how we felt, and with each other. We decided to give Long Distance a try.

6 months later we reunited. Not long after that, we got engaged. And 5 years after that, we returned to Thailand with our friends and family to be married.

In our wedding vows, we renewed our commitment to honoring ourselves, even as we committed to each other. It’s a promise we’ve since worked hard to uphold. At times, it’s meant leaning into some truly difficult conversations, and being willing to upset each other. But by always honoring our individual truths, we believe it has made our marriage stronger.

This year we celebrate 11 years together. 11 years since we met in that small desert town and naively started a summer fling that would change our lives forever. 11 beautiful years of adventure, growth, happiness, and the inevitable challenges that life throws your way.

We often reflect on how close we came to walking away forever, and it’s with deep gratitude. Gratitude that we showed commitment to ourselves by walking away, and gratitude that even when we thought it would end, we let ourselves be surprised by love.