Dear ex,

A year ago tomorrow, I wrote this post…
…because a year before that, we split up. I haven’t written on this blog in a while, but I felt a real longing to this week.

Two years ago, I was on holiday in the same place from which I have just returned. Two years ago, I knew things weren’t right and I was so painfully aware that I wasn’t happy, and I wasn’t making you happy, and nothing I could do was making it any better. I spent a lot of time, two years ago, sat looking at the sea, hearing the waves crash and knowing that, unlike the ocean, this couldn’t go on forever. I can remember the pulsing panic of adrenaline as I tried to think about what I would do after. Homeless, metaphorically orphaned, without friends, without work… I can remember the ice cold feelings of panic and fear tearing through me. I can remember silencing them with yet another weak thought of, well, maybe we can still make this work.

Then we split, and I have written on here a lot about how I then rebuilt my life.

This holiday was a very different experience. Same place, same sea with it’s same sound and same relentlessness, but different emotions. This time, I was with my current partner, and I was happy. I spent most of the week watching him – watching him bring me heart shaped pebbles on the beach, watching him love the sea as much as I do, watching him talk and watching my parents love him. This is real and true and magical, and the only rushes of adrenaline that I got this week were when my heart skipped ahead to thinking this could be it.

I still feel like I need to honour this two year anniversary (but I have always loved dates). I will probably mark it in some way. Last year it came with quite a lot of sadness for what I felt we’d lost – what I felt we could have had, if only, if only. This year is different. Our ending was sad and painful and it still makes me cry when I foolishly think about the beauty we did have, but this year I mostly feel hugely privileged that we both had a new start. We both got the chance to throw away the unhappiness and start again. I have found what I had always craved – he is incredible and my life is incredible, too. I am so happy, the freedom that came from the pain of our ending brought such happiness. I hope you are, too.

This poem by Beau Taplin says all I want to say, at two years.


Loving you was such a privilege. Our life together was such a privilege. But so was letting go. What has come after is such a privilege, too.

I don’t know whether there will be a three year anniversary post. I don’t know whether this date will always make me feel just a little bit sad, or whether it will be overtaken by other anniversaries and other distractions. I do know that no matter what I’m doing a year from now, though, or every year after that, I will never stop feeling privileged for having loved you, having been loved by you, and for the freedom we gave each other when we both let go.

Love, always.



9 responses »

  1. A beautiful expression of how things have changed for the better! Love the poem – a great perspective to have 🙂

    I’ve missed your blog posts, but it’s wonderful to know that joy and fulfillment are taking up your time! You so deserve it 🙂

    • I said to T this evening that it felt like longer than two years, and she said “well you have squished a lot of life into those two years!” which I suppose is true. Ha. Hope all is wedded bliss xxx

  2. “To throw away the unhappiness and start again.” It says a great deal about you as a person that you feel the privilege you describe.

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