I broke up with an ex boyfriend because he was too good to me.
Now that’s not the whole truth, but that’s most of it.
That’s the important part.
The part that I want to get off my chest.
I broke up with him because: while he was busy being good to me, and willing to be everything he could for me, I stopped being good to myself, and that scared me.
It started going down hill when I had begun to notice that I was spending too much time with him and thinking about him too much – feelings that were distracting me from some bigger goals I had made as a new graduate.
And in wanting myself to be strong, and independent, and more adult-like, I started putting pressure on myself – to want to be, and make myself, even happier, all on my own.
I had started dating someone who I could trust, and rely on, and could act like myself to, and yet, there was a part of me that couldn’t explain or articulate why I wasn’t satisfied.
How did I get lost?
I’m not totally sure.
I think it was a mixture of the stress and anxiety associated with growing up, and a lot of fear about letting someone become an important player in my life, when so many other things were up in the air.
What I do know for sure is that I made myself busy with a new job, and kept taking on more and more commitments to clubs and hobbies and fundraising campaigns, in an effort to feel that I was taking strategic strides toward becoming the boss woman I had always wanted to be.
And because of all of that, because of the late nights and long hours, I made it easy for myself to find excuses for the lack of interest I developed in my relationship.
However, now that I reflect, after some time has passed, I don’t think I ever really lacked interest in my relationship.
Looking back, I think it’s more likely that I thought I was letting myself be lazy, and I didn’t want to let myself off the hook from being extraordinary, brilliant, and successful.
Instead of allowing myself to rest, and take it easy, snuggled up with my boyfriend on the couch, or drinking at a bar, (things I began believing made me weak and immature), I told myself I needed to be more ambitious and get out there, and to change the world. I told myself I needed to be someone truly important.
I pushed someone good away because I thought I needed to be more.
I pushed someone away because I wanted to be selfish, and decided that my goals, and my life, on my own, was more important than allowing myself to be vulnerable with someone that could affect me in any way.
And since then, I have accomplished what I set out to do.
I’ve performed to a sold out crowd.
I’ve worked with dozens of clients who love my work.
I’ve launched a new mental health awareness campaign.
I’ve made new friends.
I’ve made a name for myself.
I’ve gotten shit done.
I’ve done some pretty amazing things that I likely wouldn’t have had the time or discipline to accomplish had I been dedicated to that relationship instead.
But at the end of the day, no matter my success, I can’t help but fight the feeling that I’m disappointed that I pushed a good person away to get myself ahead.
I’m disappointed that I wasn’t able to balance my heart and my head at the same time, nor make time for all of the things, and people, who brought joy into my life.
I’m disappointed that I sacrificed someone that made me happy, in the hopes that more material successes would make me even happier.
I’m disappointed that I tried to grow up too fast.
I guess, when it comes down to it, the point of this post is:
Success is only as fulfilling as the people you share it with.
And while I don’t regret ending that relationship, because I’m proud of what I’ve accomplished on my own, my personal successes haven’t made me any happier than I was.
And while that’s a hard pill to swallow, it’s an adult reality I needed to face.