This isn’t a blog post I ever thought I’d write, and it certainly isn’t one I would’ve ever wanted to. I’m generally private when it comes to personal stuff, but my relationship was such a huge part of my life and I feel like writing it all down will help me to make a little bit more sense of it in my own mind.
For those of you who’ve been reading my blog or watching my YouTube videos for a long time, you’ll know that I’ve been in a long-term relationship. A relationship that spanned over ten years of friendship, and about four and a half years of being a couple. I moved my life up to London in 2016 and we got our own place together. We traveled, built a home and talked about what the future would look like for us once we both finished university.
Even though it ended badly…really badly…I won’t sit here and say that the whole thing was terrible. It was hard work, but through it all, I always felt like we’d have each other’s backs and we’d push through the challenges together. It was the first relationship I’d ever been in where I felt secure enough to be myself, and I honestly never worried that one day we’d break up.
I take comfort in knowing that no one else in the world knows what it was really like between us. I’ve caught myself worrying in the last few days that, because he’s so hurt and angry, he’s saying things that aren’t true, or making things out to be different to how they really were. But I know the truth, and so does he. And that’s not really anybody else’s business. People deal with loss in different ways.
I’ve been missing the cups of tea in bed, the movie nights and even just the conversations we had. I know that it’ll be a long time before I meet someone who’s on the same wavelength as me in the way that he was. I have so much to thank him for; all the amazing music he introduced me to, for bringing me into his amazing family and, for a while, making me feel so special. But if I’ve learnt anything from the last couple of years, it’s that sometimes, it’s not enough to just love somebody.
Relationships are hard work. I’ve heard that phrase so many times throughout my life, but never really understood until these last few months. In my relationship, we allowed ourselves to grow apart. After a while, we didn’t take the time to go on dates or plan things to look forward to. I supported him as best I could when he needed me to, but never felt like I got equal support back. I put my life on hold several times because he was never 'ready'. I felt like I was being held at arms length, and maybe, by trying to pull myself closer, I was only pushing him away. The truth is that I tried. I tried for a really long time before giving up and making a series of completely stupid mistakes. It’s something I’ll have to live with.
Even after that, we were determined to make it work. But it didn’t. I guess it just came as such a shock to me, because I thought I understood the situation and how he was feeling, when I actually didn’t.
But I didn’t just lose out on my relationship and the person I imagined myself marrying, having kids with and spending my old-age with. I also lost my home; the flat we’d been making our own for two years. I lost my job and most of my friends. I had to leave London and move back into my Dad’s spare room down in Devon. It really stings to be back to square one, but for one reason or another, I’m feeling more positive than I thought I would.
I feel heartbroken to the point where I don’t believe it’s even real. And I just want to sleep so I don’t have to feel so sick. I feel embarrassed at the thought that people are thinking things and gossiping about the end of my relationship, when they don’t have the slightest idea. But I don’t feel broken.
Everything is so uncertain at the moment. I’ve practically severed ties with my old life in London because I can’t bear to have to think or talk about what’s happened. In a way, it’s helped because the people who really care are coming up to the surface and I can see who they really are. I know the people who truly know me will understand and see past the exaggerations. It's natural for someone to want to twist a narrative to paint them in a better light. I don't blame anyone. I'll always have love for him. But it’s all still so new and fresh. There’s still so much healing to do.
What I’ve started realising over the last few lonely days, though, is that I’m a woman who deserves every day to feel loved. I love to love; I put my whole being into a relationship when I’m truly in love with someone. There’s nothing I wouldn’t do for somebody I love, and I’ve proven that to myself and to others over the course of the last four and a half years. I have accomplished things that I didn’t think I could, like getting my degree. I’m beautiful, I’m funny, I’m confident, I’m an extrovert. And even though I was in love, I didn’t deserve to ever be made to feel like I wasn’t somebody’s number one. In the end, I think I stopped loving myself because I didn’t feel loved by the person who I so completely adored.
Everything has changed, but instead of looking back, it’s time to look towards the future. My priorities are getting a job and getting my own flat. I’ve decided I love the look of Exeter city centre; lots of the flats are in period buildings and are faaaar more within my price range than London was. I’ve got my Australian driving license off in the post to get switched to a UK one so I can get driving, and I’ve got a few job applications done and dusted.
Once I’m on my feet, I know I’ll be in the best position to find my One. My real One. The One who’ll never let me second-guess my worth. I have so much to look forward to.
I am brave, I am strong and I will pick myself back up.
Lots of love,
Jasmine x
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