Previous Break-Ups...

In the tumultuous cycle of my prior abusive relationship—during the rare occasions when I managed to break free—the immediate aftermath left me with intense cravings. I recognized that our relationship was tumultuous, but I didn't fully grasp (until extensive therapy and research) that these "cravings" stemmed from the abusive cycle I was ensnared in. Essentially, following one of his outbursts, the sweetness of the honeymoon phase felt euphoric, resulting in a rush of endorphins and a significant dopamine boost: a natural high. Thus, whenever I attempted (repeatedly) to break free from this cycle, the honeymoon phase wouldn’t materialize, nor would those natural highs, leading to a powerful—almost tangible—withdrawal.

This felt akin to battling an addiction.

Each break-up with him was like going cold turkey from alcohol (or drugs or cigarettes—pick your vice)—a painful, uncomfortable, skin-crawling torment that left me a distracted, obsessed, jittery mess. I would literally have to sit on my hands to resist texting him. But after a week or so, the discomfort would subside. I would emerge from beneath the duvet, reconnect with friends and my sponsor, and start rebuilding my life. Much like in recovery, the longer I stayed away from "it," the stronger and better I felt.

But as any addict will tell you, the issue with addictive substances is that if you start indulging again, you invariably pick up right where you left off—usually in a pretty dreadful place, close to rock bottom. It was simpler with alcohol. Liquor didn't show up at my door uninvited and keep knocking until I let it in. The liquor store didn’t call me from different numbers, create fake social media profiles, or show up at my meetings. No matter how hard I tried to cut my ex out cold turkey, he always found a way to creep back in. Over time, the cycles shortened—months turned to weeks, then days, with escalating intensity. Rinse, wash, repeat.

In summary, the initial pain of break-ups was eventually eased by time. Additionally, I could freely discuss it with close friends, which was a relief to express without shame.

Breaking up with my affair partner, however, has been entirely different.

It has been four months since we officially parted ways. Initially, I coped well. I immersed myself in writing, found a new sponsor, and embraced honesty. I began the steps anew, analyzing my behavioral patterns—particularly with men. I’m receiving EMDR therapy for the PTSD caused by my ex and hitting the gym fairly regularly, but not obsessively. I’m likely in the best shape of my life—I can now do five unassisted chin-ups! At 46, I had never managed even one before! I've started taking myself on “Artists Dates” and taking surfing lessons. I'm a present and attentive mother, cherishing moments with my toddler. Our days are filled with joyful conversations, singing, dancing in the kitchen, and dog walks. She is pure joy.

I appear to be thriving on the outside.

Yet inside, I grapple with a persistent gnawing emptiness that refuses to fade. A deep, constant ache of loss lingers. I cling to the hope that this feeling will eventually dissipate, but I’m starting to fear it won’t.

When I close my eyes, I can vividly recall the sensation of my fingers gliding along his arms—tracing his bare chest. The memory of his lips on mine. How we seemed to effortlessly mirror each other's intensity, leading to prolonged moments of passionate intimacy. Then he would prepare lunch while I leaned over the counter, discussing local politics, music, Star Wars, and more—both of us completely naked. There was an ideal blend of ease, comfort, and closeness.

Secret Behaviors

I've spent a frustrating 45 minutes trying to locate his Spotify profile (yes, Spotify). I even crafted a public playlist for us, just in case he’s searchi