Yesterday I ended things with someone I had been seeing for almost five months.
No condolences are necessary here. Ours was not some grand, life-altering love story. It was just a thing, a nice little thing, and now it’s not a thing. And that’s okay.
It’s okay to exit relationships that do not fulfill you. Even if there’s nothing really wrong. Even if the other person is nice. Even if there is no fighting or bad feelings. Sometimes things—even nice things—just are not for us. Or they were once, and aren’t now. But either way, it’s okay.
Earlier this month I wanted to write something cool and poignant and smart about fat bodies, but I couldn’t because I was feeling really shitty about my own fat body. And that’s okay.
In late November I was experiencing lower back pain that was so bad I couldn’t walk more than a half mile without keeling over. Walking across the street to the BBQ joint with my coworkers sent me to my office in tears. I thought I might have to cancel my birthday trip to Disneyland.
I hated my fat body for failing me. I hated myself because I couldn’t stop saying “this is your fault” and I hated myself even more for internalizing all the shitty fatphobia and ableism I fight back against every day.
For a minute there, I wasn’t okay, and I had nothing good to say about fat bodies then so I was quiet for awhile. And that’s okay.
Then I wanted to write something great about non-monogamy and polyamory. About how thankful I was recently to have been able to spend time with my best friend and all of my partners (even the faraway one) at once.
But sometimes polyamory really sucks. Sometimes I don’t have anything nice to say about it, because I’m stuck in my head and dealing with the ways that my past experiences make relationships hard for me, make trusting my most beloved people hard for me. Polyamory has a unique way of highlighting how different individual relationships can be — which is really hard when you feel like one of your partners is not giving you access to a part of them that they seem to be able to give so freely to other partners.
Some of that was real and some of that was just unbridled fear and anxiety. I read recently that polyamory is like emotional edgeplay, and that never felt more real to me than it did a few weeks ago. I didn’t feel like anything was okay, and the fact that I felt trapped in my body, in a vessel that was hurting me so much, made everything worse.
So I had nothing to say. And that’s okay.
And while things are better now, I’m not far out enough from all this to have any kind of perspective that would be helpful to you, dear readers. But here’s what I know:
- My body is good. Even when it is in pain.
- I went to Disneyland and I walked six miles. I took as many breaks as I needed. I almost cried one time but didn’t.
- I came down with one of the worst flus I’ve had in recent memory after my Disneyland adventure, probably my body’s way of saying fuck you for making me do that.
- But I’m really proud of myself for going to Disneyland anyway.
- Polyamory is hard. And scary. But the loves I have are true and real, and—at least for now—they’re not going anywhere.
- I ended a relationship that was no longer fulfilling me, and I’m proud of myself for doing that. Even though it was hard.
- It’s okay. It’s okay. It’s okay.