Im thirty years old, and a few months back, I ended a relationship that had lasted eight years. There were no betrayals, no shouting matches, no dramatic fallouts. One day, I simply sat across from her and faced a painful realisation: in her life, I was forever the ‘work in progress.’ And the worst part was, I don’t think she even knew it.
Throughout those years, we were just boyfriend and girlfriend. We never moved in together. I lived at my parents place and she lived with hers. Ive got a career and work for a company, while she runs her own little café. Both of us were independent, each with our own responsibilities, schedules and money. There were no financial obstacles keeping us from moving forward. It just became a decision that was constantly postponed.
For years, I suggested we try living together. I never pushed for a big wedding or elaborate plans. In fact, Id often said that marriage wasnt essential, that a piece of paper wouldnt define what we already had. I pointed out how stable our relationship was, and how we could share a space, a daily routine, a real life. She would always come up with a reason to wait: that wed do it later, that now wasnt the right time, that she needed to focus on the café, that it would be better to hold off for a while.
Meanwhile, our relationship became a well-oiled routine. We saw each other on certain days, spoke at certain times, went to the same old places. I knew her home, her family, her troubles. She knew mine. But everything happened within the boundaries of safety and comfortno risks, no real change. We were steady, yet stuck.
One day, a truth hit me sharp: I was growing, but our relationship wasnt. I began to think about time. That if things continued, Id find myself at forty still the eternal fiancé. No shared home, no real plans, nothing in common except meeting up and keeping each other company. Not because she was a bad person, but because she didnt want what I did.
The decision to end it wasnt spur-of-the-moment. I thought about it for months. When I finally told her, there was no argument. Just silence. She genuinely didnt understand. She said everything was fine, that we werent lacking anything. Thats when it was all confirmed for me: it was enough for her, but not for me anymore.
Then came the pain. Even though I was the one who walked away, there were habitsmessages, calls, shared routines. I caught myself missing things that werent love, just the comfort of familiarity.
What I hadnt expected was the reaction from others. I thought Id be criticised, told I was being dramatic, that eight years isnt something you just leave behind. But instead, most people said the opposite. They told me it was time. That a bloke like me shouldnt stay stuck. That Id waited long enough.
Im still working through it, to be honest. Im not looking for anyone new. Im not in a rush.
