When It’s Time To Leave
By: Devon Herrera
Tags: Breakups, Self Worth, Strength, Relationships, Sadness

When It’s Time To Leave

Photo by Dev Asangbam on Unsplash

“You could totally be a therapist,” the psychologist said as I sunk my body into the mustard-yellow corduroy couch.

It was 2015 and there were dark stains cascading through the threads; I hated the fact that it didn’t match anything in her office. Honestly, not even one hint of yellow anywhere else.

In fact, the entire room was offputting, from the unorganized books to the cat card thumbtacked on a bulletin board that read, ‘have a pawsome birthday!’

In reality, it’d be fair to say I became irritated in most encounters, which, of course, frustrated me even more.

Not being able to regulate your emotions fucking sucks.

“You’re so quick to anger,” my boyfriend… now ex (?) would say sporadically for the first few years of our relationship.

“I’M NOT FUCKING QUICK TO ANGER!” I’d scream back, not sensing the irony.

Clearly, I had a lot of work to do.

I’ve sought out therapy three times in my adult life. Once, after a sexual assault. Another, to deal with my anger. And three weeks ago, as I felt unable to get in touch with my emotions.

Of course, the first session or two with any new therapist really focuses on feeling each other out. “It’s as much your interview for them as it is vice versa,” my cousin suggested when I talked to her for my blog.

Initially, I worried she was too young — she threw me a “you’re doing great, sweetie” and while I laughed, I was a bit nervous… like, shit, is she gonna be able to call me on my BS, or are we just gonna become best friends and talk about the Kardashians?

Either one’s great, but I’m really in the market to figure out what the hell is going on with me.

Fast forward to session three (I almost said episode three… we can tell I’m eager to watch the latest Bachelorette) and we got down to business.

Photo by Taylor Wright on Unsplash

“I think I stay in relationships too long,” I suggested, realizing a zillion people have uttered those words and will continue to until the end of time. “Walk me through what happened with your last ex,” she prodded.

I obliged, talking about the drugs, the immaturity, and also the drugs. Ever seen someone on bath salts? 10/10 do NOT recommend.

Then we started unpacking this one. This adult relationship that I’d been in for nearly eight years.

You know when people talk about looking down at themselves while they’re experiencing something? It happened to me for the first time that Thursday afternoon. I watched myself discuss what our relationship had turned into which prompted her to respond with, “oh… okay, so you guys are buddies then? You guys are just friend roommates…”

It’s not as if that was a revelation — I’d been writing in my journal about my frustrations and even voicing them to my partner, but it was something about the way she said it, so matter of factly, like there was no wiggle room, that just solidified the fact that I’d turned off the romantic switch in our relationship.

“When was the last time you cried?” she asked. “I can cry right now if you want me to,” I responded quickly and assuredly. “No, Devon, I’m not talking about being a good actress, I’m talking about actually crying,” she replied softly.

In truth, I hadn’t let myself have a solid cry in six months, and it was only when a dear friend passed away.

On Love Island (yes, I’m obsessed with reality dating shows), they always talk about getting “the ick” when they lose a romantic connection with someone… needless to say, I got it.

I had an hour before I needed to head to class and my boyfriend came downstairs to ask how therapy went.

And that’s when it happened… I let myself really cry.

“I…” I looked down at the counter and felt my face start to burn as tears welled, quickly dripping down my nose. “I don’t know how to say this…” I swallowed my words in fear. “I’m not in this… romantically… anymore,” I started sobbing, looking down at our puppy who brushed against my leg in a clear attempt to comfort me which only made it harder.

“I warned you this could happen and you didn’t do anything about it,” I raised my voice, frustrated that he didn’t prioritize our relationship. Frustrated that his focus was always on his fucking video games.

He stood there in silence until I gave him a look that urged him to speak.

“I don’t know what to say,” he answered solemnly… “I know what we’ve talked about… I know your needs weren’t being met… I know you kept reminding me…”

He looked stoic while my tears persisted… thank God I had a crying scene in class that night.

Photo by Avel Chuklanov on Unsplash

Upon my return to the beautiful modern home we designed together, greeted by the meaningful Christmas decorations we’d gathered over the years, I told him I needed to process my emotions, but the truth is, I’d been processing my emotions and I knew what needed to be done.

“I need to leave for a month and figure out what my next steps are,” I told him. The tears came back as I considered everything I had to leave behind.

When I looked at Azey’s dog toys in the corner of our living room, I wept. We’d been on an hour walk together every single day for the last four months and she sat by my side as I worked from home, often whining until I would put her on my lap.

But now, I had to go be alone… really alone for the first time, maybe ever.

I had no idea where I was going, but I knew I couldn’t spend one more day just going through the motions.

Now I sit here, on my friends’ couch, four days later, and while I sporadically cry, I do feel lighter. I feel proud of myself for knowing what I don’t want and for taking action.

“You can do hard things,” I keep reiterating… thanks, Glennon Doyle.