Entering 2025 as a Single Woman: He Chose to Leave

At 28, I know the signs when a man is done with you. A few years ago, I would have begged and pleaded, tears streaming down my face, for him not to leave. The pain of his absence would have been unbearable. Today, things are different. The moment I realize someone doesn't want me, it's a polite "I understand, take care," and I'm gone for good. It's not that it doesn't hurt; it's not that I won't feel numb with sadness, eat a whole loaf of bread, and sob in the shower for an hour. But I know you can't rewind that statement.

You should never choose someone who doesn’t choose you. And never chase someone who is already running.

It's devastating when you realize someone isn’t calling you, saying they love you back, is annoyed by your attempts to be with them, or is looking for a way out. But just go. Just leave. Just get out of there. You can't make someone love you. You can't make them want you. You can't make them choose you.

He was nice about it. Waking up to that text this morning wasn’t fun, but he did what I always advise: tell them as soon as you can, be polite, and don’t insult them. It wasn’t unkind; he could see that our separation was too much for me, and he wasn’t going to put me through that. My heart sank as I read it; I wasn’t sure he was breaking up with me until the last few lines. I didn’t want to believe it. The message was gentlemanly and kind, even though I wish he’d waited a day so I wouldn’t remember New Year’s Eve like this. It took about five attempts before my reply resembled a dignified “I understand, goodbye.”

He didn’t bother to reply. Perhaps that’s sensible. What is there to say?

I’ll spare you the details, but I’d known it was over for a week or two before he hit ‘send’ on the final breakup text. We didn’t have a huge row, and I don’t think I did anything particularly off-putting, but it became obvious that I was too much. Too in love. Too sure about him. Too eager. Too intense. Just not what he wanted. I knew he wasn’t that attracted to me physically; he’d made remarks about wanting to see me when I was thin, and he’d described me to his therapist as ‘beautiful, but curvy, which I’ve never been into.’ But there were moments when I thought our feelings for each other were marriage material. I watched his infatuation with me fade. I’d send him my paintings, photographs, drawings, or writing, telling him I missed him, and be met with ‘:)’ or ‘❤’.

We hadn’t seen each other for a while: I was with my family for the winter break, and he with his. But I knew something was up when he started going days without texting me, making plans to see me, and avoiding calls. I could tell I was irritating him. I’d become needy, anxious, a drag, an exhaustion, an annoyance. Oh no, I realized. He’s bored of me.

Sure, it’s devastating. I was very sad when I realized what was happening. But I know what it looks like at 28 when a man is done with you. And honestly? The only thing you can do is accept it and move on.

So, I’m going to carry on. I have work to do, stories to write, and I want to take on any new career opportunities that come my way in the new year. I’m going to bury myself in art, music, and ambition. I’m going to accept what the winds of fate bring me. I’m sure I’ll have bad days, and I’m dreading the shock and adrenaline wearing off.

I’ll be okay. I have a lot of love to give, and I trust the right person will find me one day. For now, there’s a beautiful, empty notebook called 2025, and I want to find out what I choose to write in there.