A breakup post.

Over the summer, I broke up with my boyfriend of 9 years and moved out of the house we’d shared for 5. It was both the hardest and best thing I think I’ve done so far in my life, and I’m still not quite through processing it.

It took longer than I thought to be “ready”

It took a little over a year between the day I started to think, “I can’t stay here…” and the day I actually told him, “I want out”. I spent that year examining every angle—our relationship, my role in it, his behaviors, everything—double- and triple-checking that leaving was the right call. I didn’t want to go through the effort and pain of breaking up and moving out, only to feel like I’d messed up. My perfectionism had me overthinking every angle.

Financially, it took time to feel ready, too. He covered the mortgage and utilities because a) we never really talked about splitting it differently, and b) it was his asset since he’d bought the house before I moved in. I handled groceries, household supplies, and other “consumables”, and every bill I came in with—my car, insurance, phone—I kept handling solo, so I knew I'd have to take on a lot more financially when I left.

And then there was the question of where I’d actually go. Finding a new place wasn’t just about finding four walls and a roof; it had to be somewhere I actually wanted to live, somewhere that would feel like a step forward, not just a scramble to escape. I needed somewhere with restricted-breed approval for my dog, and prices in Phoenix had gone up like crazy since I last rented in 2019.

In the end, taking the time to find the right place and get financially ready was something I needed to do to feel grounded in my decision.

This relationship was a tower relationship for me.

This relationship felt like a “Tower Moment”—one that forced me to examine parts of myself I’d been avoiding. I realized that I’d fallen into familiar patterns: putting my partner’s needs above my own, watering down my personality, and hesitating to take opportunities because I feared he wouldn’t support me.

I also am having to challenge beliefs about relationships that I carried from my parents' divorce. I’d told myself I’d “never quit” like they did, but I understand now that staying in a relationship that drains you isn’t loyalty—it’s self-betrayal. Redefining what it means to “quit” has helped me see how my perfectionism has led me to mask in relationships, putting on a version of myself that I thought would be easier to love.

And I think I’m finally getting what people mean about a partner being a “best friend.” Turns out, it’s not about replacing your best friend but about finding someone who shows up for you in ways that make you feel seen, known, and loved, daily, just like they do. I’m grateful to finally understand that!

I don’t know how I feel, until I’m feeling it.

When I finally made the decision to leave, I figured the sadness wouldn’t even register—I thought I’d feel nothing but relief because it took a literal year to get out.

So, you can imagine my annoyance when I got through the move and was suddenly hit with a wave of sadness. Turns out it’s impossible to be with someone for nine years and not miss them in some way. But that’s only part of it.

I’m grieving more than just him; I’m missing this vision of us I held onto for so long—the one that I thought would eventually turn into something amazing. There’s this weird, empty feeling for the version of us that only existed in my mind. It’s not something you can even define, just a lingering ache for what you hoped you’d get but never actually did.

At the same time, I love being on my own. I’m genuinely happier single than I was in that relationship, which feels bittersweet. I love having my own space, decorating the way I like, eating whatever and whenever I want, and being selfish with my time. I raise my dog the way I want, keep my home exactly as I like (no shoes!), and I don’t feel self-conscious when I’m just letting myself be, mess and all.

So, long story short, I feel a lot of things—mostly positive, some sad and wistful. For someone who usually wants to make sense of feelings, these ones don’t fit into neat boxes, and they’re not going to. I just try to feel them and take each day as it comes.

It made me examine how I respond when my friends go through a breakup.

One of the hardest things I’ve noticed since my breakup is how people suddenly feel free to share all the things they disliked about my relationship. I’ve heard about how much the relationship ‘took out of me’ and how hard it was to watch me ‘lose myself,’ and it feels as if everyone had been holding their breath, just waiting for this breakup to happen. While I understand that sometimes people don’t feel it’s their place to say these things while you’re in the relationship, hearing them now feels incredibly weird.

Through this experience, I’ve realized I’ve done the same thing to friends in the past—silently disliking their partner, only to voice my opinions after the breakup. I never thought about how hurtful that could be for them to hear because, no matter the outcome, that partner was someone they once loved.

Maybe there’s a middle ground—a way to be genuinely supportive without ignoring obvious problems, or waiting until it’s over to share opinions. Offering open-ended support could be a way to respect both my friends and their choices.

I made a great decision by returning to Phoenix.

I’m finally back in a place where I feel like me—free to build my life exactly how I want, surrounded by the energy, people, and opportunities that truly make me happy.

Living in Phoenix, I feel safe to speak my mind and connect with a community that shares my values. It’s empowering to be able to engage in causes I care about; I even attended an abortion access rally this fall, which felt amazing.

Another huge perk of being back in the city? Options. As someone with celiac disease, having actual gluten-free options when I go out makes such a difference—no more stress or crossed fingers with every meal. And Phoenix has no shortage of places to explore and events to check out. This city is exactly what I need at this stage in my life, giving me a new kind of energy and freedom I didn’t even realize I was missing.

I’m also just 20–30 minutes from everyone I love, and my social calendar is actually filling up. I was lucky enough to have four different birthday celebrations this year! And, surprisingly, I’m sleeping better with city noise—turns out I’m not built for total silence.

Looking back, it feels like I’ve stepped into an entirely new chapter that feels more like “me.” I’m getting used to embracing the uncertainty, the freedom, and the bittersweet parts of this new life. For the first time, I feel like every choice I make is truly my own, and I’m excited to see where it takes me.