losing a home

the impossible measure of what break ups cost

This is a post I never wanted to write and doing so feels too final in a lot of ways, but not being able to openly grieve is starting to become claustrophobic. After 13+ years together, Sam and I separated.

Like every dissection of a long-term partnership, how we ended up here is complicated. I’ll start with a clarification I wish I didn’t have to make: BUT no, he did not leave me because I’m a liberal bisexual heretic. He’s only ever been supportive of my sexuality and we see eye to eye politically and spiritually.

There are a lot of messy tangled gray areas–most of which are divided by our differing perspectives and biases. There had been a build up of communication failures amongst other conflicts over the years that were never resolved, which led to essential needs on both sides being left unmet.

That is all, obviously, a simplification of the whole story in which two people deeply hurt each other in ways seemingly beyond repair. And while I hope to one day write on the unspoken details between all the gaps, there is still a lot of healing and therapy and time that has to pass before it feels safe to broach more publicly.

So now you know what’s behind the veil of grief I’ve mentioned multiple times in the last few months. I seem to cycle through 3 phases over and over: white-knuckled-on-my-knees-wretchedly-sobbing devastation, slow burning seething rage and blessed glorious numbness.

I feel like a fool looking back the past few years thinking we were on solid ground because we weren’t afraid to talk about divorce because it meant we were still choosing each other. I feel like a fool looking back at how we thought we would easily stay friends even if the romantic part of our relationship ended. I feel like a fool looking back at how we agreed we’d still want to be life partners even if it were just platonic. Honestly, I feel like a fool most of the time these days.

We still love and care for one another and I hope that even though our separate hurts, stories and sharp edges don’t know how to safely approach understanding right now, that we’ll eventually learn how to rebuild our friendship.

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I’m flying to San Francisco today because my incredible soulmate of a best friend (who is currently living in SF) decided to use her miles to fly me to her after she found out about the greatest heartbreak of my wee life. So hold tight for your weekly recipe–I return Sunday and will drop 2 recipes next week to make up for 3 days of basking in the presence of a kindred spirit and eating my weight in soup dumplings.

And oh hey, I’m a newly single 35-year-old that just got barely unstuck from a 3 year stint with debilitating depression and in possession of a pack of huskies that’s a bit desperate for financial independence, so if you have the means and like good food please consider becoming a paid subscriber!