Making your way through this cruel, confounding, ever-changing world is difficult. Something make you anxious this week, or any week? Lay it on me at askdaveholmes@gmail.com. I'm here to help you minimize the damage you will necessarily inflict on the world just by being alive.
So, what's your problem?
Dave,
I got dumped just after New Year's, after what I thought was a good 10 months, and now I feel like I'm going to be a sad sack forever. I've had breakups before, and I've always been able to shake them off and get back in the game. But this time, I'm miserable and it's not getting any better. My friends tell me it will get easier, and time will heal, but now even they're losing their patience with me. I know I'm supposed to get over it, and I want to, but…how?
-Kevin W., St. Paul, MN
Oh, brother. Getting dumped is the worst. It sharpens your deepest insecurities. It rips you out of the cozy cocoon of coupledom and drops you right into the middle of Siberia, alone. Everything reminds you of the person who just walked out of your life, and every song on the radio is about you. It's rejection of the harshest and most personal kind: It means someone has taken a good, sustained look at you, thought long and hard, and said "No, thanks." It's a miracle anyone survives it.
But people do. Just about everyone on earth does, actually, besides the few who marry their high school sweethearts and stay together forever. But have you ever met any of those people? Have you had a conversation with someone who's never gotten dumped? Did you get the sense that you were talking to three-quarters of a person? Well, you were right. The pain of a breakup is the horrible cover charge we pay to live as full human beings.
What makes the pain worse is the pressure we put on ourselves to get over it. We go through an experience that makes us feel like a child who's been abandoned in a parking lot, and then we think, "Wait, that's Punky Brewster's origin story, and she managed to have a good attitude about it, so what's my problem?" This will of course be more pronounced on Valentine's Day, a day when you're forced to feel inadequate for not having a partner. I feel for you, man.
One thing you absolutely have to do is be hurt. Feel that pain. Feel all of it. This whole process is why there is an Adele in the first place. Lean on her (or Morrissey, or that intense gentleman from Future Islands). Cry when you need to. Designate a friend to be your sounding board, and compensate them with dinner. Sigh heavily and often. These are things you need. Don't judge yourself for needing them.
You will be told, sometimes explicitly and sometimes from the subtext of literally every aspect of American culture, to push all of the agony down deep. You'll feel pressure to pretend you're not affected by it. You will be told to "man up." Don't. Get this awful thing out of you. You can emerge from this whole thing stronger, but only if you go through it. Trying to go around it just makes you permanently tense, bitter, and guarded. Too much human misery is the direct result of men pretending not to have feelings. I mean, how much better would the world be if Stephen Miller just took a moment to admit he was sad?
While you're allowing yourself to heal, take a moment to change your perspective about what went down. When you've been dumped, your instinct will be to question yourself. What did I do wrong? What is it about me that wasn't enough? But think about this: In a relationship, there is you, there is the other person, and then there is the fire. The fire is what you have between you; it's a little bit you, a little bit them, and then a whole lot of intangible elements that are out of your control: passion, chemistry, comfort. These are not things we choose, these are things that just are. Put it this way: There is probably a very attractive and charming person in your life that you just cannot imagine having sex with, right? The fire goes where it goes.
There are things you can do to put the fire out—you can snuff it out by not giving it enough air, you can let it die through neglect—but basically the fire exists on its own. Some people have the wisdom to know when the fire is out, and the kindness to set their partner free when it does. So maybe that's what happened here: It wasn't you, it wasn't even them, it's just that the fire died. It's still sad, it's still a thing to mourn, but maybe it's not as personal as you're making it.
And here's some good news: The wisdom and kindness that allows a person to see a relationship for what it is and gracefully end it at the right time? You gain those through suffering. You're earning them right now. Someday you'll be glad you have them.
This is not about the relationship that just ended. This is about your relationship with you. Be kind to yourself, even if you're sadder and needier than 20 years of Vince Vaughn movies has told you you're allowed to be. You're on your way to being the optimal version of yourself, and now you're free to meet that version's perfect partner, and to be warmed by a fire stronger than any you've experienced before. How lucky are you?
Happy Valentine's Day.
