By Weary Bradshaw

Greetings pitiful sexers or sexiful pitiers, 

Happy Valentine’s Day, my dears! This year, I got a song from my lover about our beautiful relationship. Except, he’s not my lover anymore, and we’re not in a relationship.

Last year at this time, I watched a drag queen in a thong thrust above me on a bar wearing angel wings. I had spent the day sobbing and sobbing until I felt raw and emptied, on a stoop in a neighborhood I’d never been to, walking around aimlessly with tears rolling down my pink cheeks. I remember seeing an older man walking by with flowers and chocolate for a likely lover. Corny colored pink roses bombarded and offended me at each corner. I wore all pink, as the lover of love I am, despite feeling the pit in my stomach that reminded me it was for no one but myself. After I called my boyfriend that day, I sobbed even more. I had just told him that I needed to be on my own, at least for the time being. He was too hurt to talk, so we cried on the phone together, thousands of miles apart. And then, in typical fashion after such a call, I cut all my hair off with a pair of green kid’s scissors in my sink.

So now I am officially spending my first Valentine’s Day alone in years – and I am excited to do so. 

A year ago, everything was perfect. My relationship was perfect. My boyfriend was perfect. My life, in the ways I could control, was perfect. Even worse, I was madly in love with him, I imagined our life together with ease, and I yearned for him while we were apart. Every passing thought in my head I was desperate to share with him, as I always had. I wanted his advice, his comfort, his care — I woke up and thought of him first, fell asleep replaying our copious moments of laughter and our unending joy.

So why did I have this nagging feeling in the back of my head that I couldn’t ignore, a tiny voice in my head that doubted this perfection? We were a beautiful couple; he was adored by everyone in my life, a smart, caring human with whom I had built not only a beautiful life but an honest communication — the type of person who made me a better person each and every day. He is gentle in ways I am not, and caring in ways I couldn’t comprehend. I loved him more than I had words for, and the idea of losing him made me actively nauseous. 

I lived in a constant state of anxiety; if I love him so much, why is it getting so hard for me to plan for the summer? Why am I wracked with guilt every morning like I’m harboring a big secret? What is wrong with me that even though everything is right, something within me feels like an ungrateful imposter, feeling that something I cannot place is wrong?

I knew regardless of the reason (or lack thereof), nobody should be in a relationship with anyone with such doubt (my first mistake was not giving myself the grace to explore these doubts with him, a very normal part of a relationship). Should I stay, or should I go? plagued me constantly. I gave my friends millions of reasons why I would stay, and then when they said things like, “you sound really happy in your relationship, why would you leave?” I got frustrated and left the room. The truth is, I had no real reason, and didn’t validate the only one I could find: because a part of me wanted to. Because a part of me needed to. 

I found myself struggling to respond to his texts, unable to support him as he had supported me. I love you spilled out of my mouth, but our future plans stopped at the door. I spent six months trying to ignore the feeling that I was a horrible girlfriend, a heartless idiot who was wasting something perfect. 

I told him all about the feeling, and he (as an amazing partner does) heard me and wanted to work through it. Everything he did was perfect — and yet never enough. 

In this indecision, I drove him through the tortuous rupturing of our two hearts. My back and forth was so unfair to him. When I reflect back, I can of course think of incompatibilities — but they had never been a reason to leave. I searched high and low for justifications, when in reality, whether they existed or not, they were never the answer to why. The only answer was that in the shadows of my brain, lurking in the smallest corners, was an itch that I could not scratch until it consumed me. It was the one, as Cheryl Strayed says, that whispered “go.” Because if I didn’t, it wasn’t going to go away. And that’s, unfortunately, all. 

In fact, the longer I ignored it, the more it gnawed into my brain. It took and took and took, and I had nothing left to give him except my guilt and my misdirected love.

I remember thinking, what if I never find love like this again? What if I never meet anyone who loves me this much again? What if I never love someone this much again? I found a million reasons to stay, and none to leave. 

My darlings! What if? What if I never do?!

All around us, relationships appear to be something to aspire to. The inevitable thing we should hope to find. A life alone is simply unsuitable according to society —- so much so that your taxes, your friends, your job are all constantly affected by which box you tick. But what if we reframed the goal of what being with a loving partner really means? Is forever a true aspiration or a myth of the past? With divorce rates soaring, is there ever a “one” or should we all just give up on the whole shebang? What if time and time again, you find yourself in relationships where you think, is this really how it’s supposed to feel? What if every Valentine’s Day is alone? And why do we think being alone is worse than at least being in a relationship, however it looks? 

I may never find another perfect, beautiful relationship like that one. And that’s okay. I might never find someone to share Valentine’s Day with, or another to leave on Valentine’s. And parts of me would rather do anything than consider that true. But what I’ve learned in the past year is it is way easier to be on your own than in a relationship that for any reason (or maybe no reason at all) isn’t right anymore. The greatest fallacy I believed was that it would always be easier to be in love. And societally, that’s not untrue. Life was easier in a relationship in so many regards. Capitalism does not provide enough support for people on their own in this world. But it doesn’t mean you should stay.

I remember holding him after I finally found myself able to end things, months later. I loved him so much, and I always would. And yet, in the emotional scramble I now found myself in, I had gained something new I didn’t want to give up: my life — unpredictable, imperfect (maybe more messy and disgusting than ever before) — but entirely mine. Now my life was mine to decide. It was terrifying, but it was also a weird craving I had had for a long time, even when the person I’d shared it with was wonderful.

I read Tiny Beautiful Things, I read Henry and June, I read Good Material, (all great recommendations for the broken hearted) and I claimed I was in my Eat, Pray, Love era, and drove my friends crazy and threw myself into new romances to avoid my deep loneliness, the pit I’d been afraid to fall into. I got on too many airplanes (sorry, Mother Earth), and forgot to ask my friends what was happening in their lives (I’m deeply sorry, I always will be). I ate dollar pizza for dinner and requested too many days off work. I laughed until I cried and then sobbed unprompted. I rarely slept and learned how to dance and wrote disgusting romantic diary entries. I was happy, I “crashed out” as the kids say. I ignored my mom’s phone calls and ghosted my therapist and did all the things I shouldn’t have — and on the one year anniversary of this bender beginning, I also realize, I never ever doubted that what I did was right. 

Because if you know that any part of you has doubt (a very normal and healthy part of a relationship, don’t get me wrong) but the kind that won’t quit nagging you, just know: you are brave enough, you will be okay. If you know it’s right, then that regret and that feeling might just follow you around until it breaks your relationship for you. 

If I’d been braver, I would have greeted it at the door and not allowed that feeling to come sneaking through the window and live under my bed until I couldn’t ignore it any longer. The last six months of my relationship are tinged with the presence of a creature unwelcome in our home. For others, I’ve seen it break the door down and ruin all the beautiful things inside the home, rob you of years of beautiful memories and destroy tchotchkes of shared life. If you need to go, even if you don’t want to, I will take your hand. 

Cheryl Strayed writes a list that begins, “Go, even though…” so I want to give you my own.

Go, even though they might side with them.

Go, even though they might delete all memories of you. And erase you off their Instagram, which totally blows.

Go, even though you’re scared of the future.

Go, even though you might spend Valentine’s Day alone.

Go, even though they might write a song about you.

Go, even though your heart might hurt in your chest for months.

Go, even though the narrative might not be in your favor.

Go, even though you’ll be asked why for months. And you probably won’t have a great answer.

Go, even though you’ll always think of them in the loneliest hour.

Go, even though you’ll have to find a new emergency contact.

Go, even though you will now make a horrible Hinge profile.

Go, even though you will miss them.

Go, even though you will have to watch them one day give all that beautiful love to another.

Go, even though you will be surprisingly happy and relieved when they do.

Go, even though breakups are weirdly competitive.

Go, even though your friends miss them terribly and feel a bit of resentment towards you. They are really proud of you for doing what’s right even when it’s hard. 

Go, even though it could ruin the easy harmony of the life you’ve built. Because if you don’t, that harmony will find a way to be ruined one way or another. 

Go, even though their favorite things will always belong to them in your mind.

Go, even though the idea makes you want to vomit.

Go, even though you’re worried about them. They will be okay. More okay than if you drag them along for the ride. They deserve someone who can’t make this list. 

I love Valentine’s Day and I love love in its endless forms and capacities, and we’re all so lucky for the love we have even if it doesn’t fit on a Hallmark card. However, if your love is perfect (maybe even enough for a Hallmark card) and you’re happy and yet somehow some part of you is struggling to accept a teddy bear, I will tell you — it’s okay to leave. I wish I could tell myself earlier what I’d really needed, but I couldn’t figure it out. I’m not saying it’ll be easy, but if you want a sign, someone to tell you that you can, it’s here in this column in this silly little magazine. If you need justification to know if it’s right, then you already know. 

It’s okay to be alone on Valentine’s Day. It’s okay to leave your lover on Valentine’s Day. and it’s probably way better than being with a lover who deserves better — the greatest gift you can give them is the chance to find that.

Be my Valentine?

Weary Bradshaw