My Decision To Travel The Country Alone

I imagine when it comes to terrible things to go through in life, calling off your wedding falls somewhere between a car crash that leaves you horribly disfigured and a root canal without sedation. It’s certainly not the worst thing in the world that could ever happen, but is it pleasant? No, it definitely is not.

When I called off my wedding in January of 2016, there were a million reasons to do it... and just as many to not. The dress was hanging in the closet of my childhood bedroom, the church and venue had been booked, deposits had been laid down, and most importantly, I had given someone my word. I had watched as the man I loved more than anything in the world got down on one knee and asked me to spend the rest of my life with him. And I said yes. I so happily, so ecstatically, so without pause, said yes.

And then I had to say no.

Coming from a family where my parents ― and shockingly enough, all of my friends’ parents ― were still married, my first real taste of called off engagements and messy divorces was when I was a teenager flipping through issues of People Magazine. Irreconcilable differences. That was the reason always given. Never “he cheated so I kicked him out” or “she has a shopping addiction and I had enough” or “you know what? We got married because she was pregnant and, wow, that was a terrible decision.” It seemed so cheap. So disingenuous. So... fake. Why couldn’t anyone be honest?

But then I grew up. I became an adult. I dated. I had my heart broken. I broke other people’s hearts. I realized what it meant to be cheap and disingenuous and fake. I realized how hard life is without having to spill all of your dirty laundry to your parents or your siblings or those people from high school who were just waiting for you to fall. Waiting for you to fail.

When I called off my wedding, my ex-fiance and I made a rule that no one would speak poorly of the other ― something that I’m sure we both failed at. At least I know I did. And how could I not? Watching him leave was the hardest thing I’ve ever done. Harder than calling off the wedding. Harder than realizing it just wasn’t working. Harder than realizing it was time to let go. No, watching him walk out my door for the very last time was a punch to the stomach. The kind that’s so hard it knocks the wind out of you.

I think I made it all of two hours before calling my best friend and saying, “Let me tell you what REALLY happened.” And then for the next four hours, I laid out every irritation, every issue, every problem I’d ever had with the man I was supposed to spend my forever with. I imagine he did the same. At least I hope he did. Breaking a promise seems easier to swallow when both parties are guilty.

Somewhere in the middle of that four-hour long phone conversation, my best friend said, “Well, when are you going to write about it? When are you going to tell your side of the story?” I sat in silence for a second; then the sobs came.

It was at that moment when I realized why, since the dawn of the tabloids, celebrities have cited “irreconcilable differences” as the demise of their relationships. Maybe someone did do something awful. Maybe someone did cheat. Maybe someone did walk out. But for the most part? I think it probably just got too hard.

When you open your life up to the public as I have (though narcissist that I am, I certainly don’t dare claim that I am famous), people come to expect updates and answers ― and I don’t blame them. I shared with my readers the news of my engagement, so it only seemed fair that when the walls around me came crashing down, people wanted to know why. What the hell happened. Who’s to blame? Which side do we take? And I get that, because for so long, I’ve wanted to know the dirty details.

In the age of social media where every blogger and most celebrities claim to be perfect, it’s difficult to walk that line ― as a regular person who writes about her life ― between over sharer and private citizen. I’ve never claimed to be perfect and I’ve never claimed to have all of the answers and I hope my online presence reflects that. But the truth of the matter is, sometimes, even for celebrities and lesser, writer folks like me, sometimes you just need to take a step back and say “I’m sorry, I can’t talk about that.” Sometimes things are just too hard.

I wish I could say that someone cheated or someone walked out or someone had a secret shopping addiction, but the truth of the matter is: it just got too hard. And that’s a tough fucking pill to swallow. Some people might think I gave up or that he gave up or that we, collectively, gave up. Maybe they’re right. But they weren’t living in a reality that involved sleeping in separate bedrooms or fighting over finances. They weren’t living in the reality where both partners were at one point unemployed, where the job market was terrible, where the economy was shit, and where the easiest thing to do at the end of the day was to look at each other and say “I blame you for this. I blame you for my unhappiness.” Relationships are hard. But relationships where every card is stacked against you? Well, those are impossible.

The fact of the matter, the truth of it all, we fought for it. And we lost. You can only fight for so long until you’re bruised and bloodied and beaten and so destroyed that you can’t even remember what you’re fighting for. “Was it ever even that great? Is it worth it?” Ultimately, my answers were yes and no.

Realizing that you’ve failed at the thing you wanted most is nearly impossible to accept. It nearly broke me. It nearly broke him. And it most certainly broke us. Watching him walk out my door and out of my life is a picture that will haunt me forever. It signifies a failure. I wasn’t strong enough to make it work. I just couldn’t do it any longer.

The days and months that followed are a blur of broken promises, empty wine bottles, and shattered dreams and picture frames. While I know there were so many people who were rooting for us, rooting for me, I know there were people out there glad to see it end. Glad to see me fail.

I joke a lot now about how awful marriage must be and how I can’t imagine living in the suburbs with a husband and a baby...but the truth of the matter is, I can. How can you come so close to that life if you never really wanted it anyway? But emotional armor and self-deprecation are a hell of a drug cocktail. Joking about it seemed easier. After all, no one likes the girl who throws herself a pity party.

When I finally decided to quite literally peel myself off the bathroom floor and face my problems head on, it was months and months after that fateful day when he walked out my front door without looking back. I had come so close to getting married, come so close to my happy ending...but it wasn’t happy. And so I made the decision, for me, to call it off. To be happy. But to be more miserable after he left? That is something I wasn’t prepared for.

For too long, I denied the fact that the answer to all of my problems hadn’t come with the removal of the ring from my left hand. I was a romantic Goldie Locks: unhappy in a relationship and even unhappier alone. And so one day I looked in the mirror. I looked in the mirror and didn’t like what I saw. I was unhappy. I was blaming everyone else for my problems. I was teetering on the edge of a full on mental breakdown. And it was at that moment, when I realized I needed to do something.

I could spend the rest of my life in a zombie-like haze or I could go out and live. I could take this opportunity, the heartbreak and the pain and the ever-present thought of “what the fuck am I doing with my life” that plagued me, and I could set out to find happiness. If the settled down, in a relationship life hadn’t worked and neither had the single, Sex and the City one, then I was going to find something that would.

And so, for the next few months, I will be traveling. Alone. I’ll be forcing myself into recognizing and answering those uncomfortable questions we only ask ourselves when there’s no one around to distract us from our demons. I’ll be taking my baggage and hitting the road. Literally.

I’m not setting out to find some version of my former self. Because the truth is, at my age, I’ve found myself. Years ago. So I’m setting out to find someone new. Someone who doesn’t stay in an unhealthy relationship. Someone who doesn’t try to make things work for the sake of making things work. Someone who is comfortable both being with someone and being alone. Someone who is happy. Because at the root of it all, if you don’t have happiness, then what the hell do you have?