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One Small Decision Ended My Dating Life
And here I am, almost six months later, just fine.
My last relationship ended almost six months ago. I saw it coming. Still, I was deeply saddened by it. Not crying, wailing, and gnashing of teeth sad, but low key “well, shit” sad. There is a vast difference between these two. I have little capacity for the former. I have become a master of grief processing over the last few years.
Weighing in at a whole whopping eight months, it was the longest period of time I had spent with someone in the four years since my divorce. I had gotten used to having someone there.
I have not dated since. There was no moment where one takes to social media and throws up their arms and dramatically declares that she is never dating again. I am not a fan of life-limiting statements in any iteration.
Still, the dating landscape of the last six months has been a barren, desolate land on which nothing has grown. While six months of date-free living is not monumental or noteworthy, the reason for it is.
As is often the case, following my breakup I realized I had more time on my hands. The end of a relationship leaves a void. You get back the time taken up with phone calls, texts, dinners, plans, conversations. It happens all at once and it’s overwhelming.
