It’s Been a Week (And Apparently Breakups Come With Paperwork)

It’s been a week. Not a good week. Not a disastrous week. Just… a week. The first week of not being us anymore.

Before I get into it, let me just say this: I don’t want to be the guy who churns out endless breakup sob stories. I worry that people might think I'm trying to exploit the breakdown of my relationship. That’s not the plan, not at all. But when my last piece resonated with so many people, it made me realise how important it is to talk about this stuff, especially men’s mental health. Too often we’re told to “man up” or push things down until they explode. If sharing a bit of my own mess helps someone else feel less alone in theirs, then maybe it’s worth the slight embarrassment of oversharing on the internet.

Look, I won’t lie, it’s not been a wonderful week. But, as the days have gone on, it’s gotten marginally better. Still, there’s this emptiness, like someone’s scooped out a huge part of me and wandered off with it. There’ve been good moments, and there’ve been moments where I find myself tearing up inexplicably over nothing. And then, of course, there’s been the week of firsts.

The first day without a “Good Morning” message.
 The first night I didn’t drive over to hers.
The first Saturday not staying over.
 The first trip to shop in the same place we’d gone to together for the last time a week ago.

Even popping into Chester with my family became difficult. Every street, every ice cream shop, every market food stall triggered a memory. Every sentence seemed to start with: “When I was last here with her, we ate this, did that, went there…” It’s exhausting.

The hardest part, though? The silence. Not talking. I still check my phone out of habit, just to see if she’s messaged, before mentally reminding myself she won’t have done.

Breakup Admin Is the Worst

Nobody warns you about the admin of a breakup. Things like photos, backgrounds, and social media. She’s already done the sensible thing, cleared things out, moved on in the way that’s right for her, and honestly, I think that’s healthy.

But for me, it still feels too soon. Right now, deleting those pictures feels like cutting out six years of memories, and I’m just not ready for that step yet. I will be, but right now, I don’t want to.

Of course, people notice. Suddenly you get the messages: “I’ve noticed you’ve both changed your profile picture, is everything OK?” No, it’s not, Sharon. But thanks for asking.

Still, at least we didn’t post the classic cryptic Facebook status, getting replies like “U Ok? Inbox me hun xxx.” Small mercies.

The Quiet

Things feel… quiet. I’ll see something in a shop and think, “She’d find that funny, I’ll send her a photo!” But I can’t.

I’ll spot a new chocolate bar or drink and think, “She’d love that,” and remember the little ritual of turning up with something sweet, pretending it was for her, then subtly hinting I wanted half. Unless it was pistachio, in which case I’d rather lick the inside of a bin.

It’s the little things that cut deepest.
The “How’s your day been?”
The drive to hers, music on in the car.
The way she’d politely laugh at my “wonderful” jokes, even when they really weren’t.

The Reflection

I’ve realised this week that perhaps I could have done more. Maybe if I had the courage to say something sooner, acted on my worries rather than hoping they’d go away. By the end, I think we both knew something needed to change, but I’d lost sight of how to do that, and that’s on me.

What I do cling on to, though, are some of the last things she said to me — that I made her feel safe, loved, and special. And I just hope she finds someone who can give her those things again. Ideally not quite as well as me, though — I’d like to keep my gold medal in “making her feel special,” thanks very much. I’ve also realised how much I loved her. How much I still do. I hope she's doing ok.

I also realise how much my family and friends mean to me, the ones who have let me talk, cry, rant, and reminisce without judgement. That’s been invaluable, and I couldn’t have done this week without them. They've kept me busy, given me space, talked sense into me and allowed me to talk nonsense at them. I can't thank them enough.

If You’re Going Through This…

Nobody can tell you how you should feel. Breakups are grief, but nobody has died. You’ll go through the five stages, but not in order, and sometimes all at once. It’s messy.

But you’ll get there. But please - talk to people. Talk to anyone. Friends, family, even a chat room on the internet. Having the chance to talk about your how you’re feeling is so, so important. It’s not weak, and even though it’s ‘not what men do’, it should be exactly what men do.

Just remember: you’re not alone. And if you think you are, and you don’t know who to turn to — my inbox is open.