Breaking up in your 30s

Or, the first time I got dumped

Getting dumped sounds dramatic. He broke up with me though, so technically it’s an accurate statement? I guess I could be proud that up until now I have only done the breaking up with, rather than be broken up with.

Is that something to be proud of though?

Or does it rather mean I’ve played it quite safe, making sure I only enter into relationships with people who liked me way more than I liked them? This is flattering for a while and feeds some unconscious need for adoration and affection that I now realize I’ve always had, but the reality set in eventually: I don’t actually like them enough. I don’t see myself spending the rest of my life with them.

Usually by the time I broached the subject, I had been mulling over it for weeks, and — quite unfairly — already slowly trying to distance myself emotionally in order to ease into the breakup.

I remember one particular situation in my 20s where I broke up with someone in two parts. Mostly because I didn’t have the heart to actually be decisive about it in the face of their despair. So I gave it another week of “thinking,” all the while knowing what I needed to do. I’m not sure if at the time I thought this was kinder for the other person. But it definitely made it easier for me.