I can’t begin to count how many boxes of Kleenex I’ve got through while sobbing into my pillow like Bridget Jones after a boyfriend has left me – and fantasising for years that they will walk back into my life, proclaiming their undying love.
Sadly, that has never happened. I was just a stuck record, going on and on about them being the love of my life, long after the relationship’s sell-by date.
That’s why it’s no surprise it apparently takes the average person more than four years and nine weeks to get over an ex – even if you’re in a new relationship.
According to a new report, to completely cut the bond (referred to by the researchers as “complete fracture”, where all romantic feelings vanish) takes twice that amount of time – especially if you are the one dumped.
The study, published in Social Psychological and Personality Science, claims it’s the same timeframe for both men and women. A small percent of unlucky people find it even harder to let go, with their feelings lasting decades.
It makes buckets of sense to me. I spent years wondering why I was always left heartbroken and unable to move on. I had to go into therapy to learn how to disentangle myself – and then I discovered it wasn’t just bad luck. I was a love addict.
I’d always thought I was living in a Gothic romance, but I was actually living with addiction and co-dependency. I’d never really analysed it all until I hit a rock bottom, but my love affairs were always epic – on a pumped-up Dr Zhivago level. I never simply “fancied” somebody; I fell head over heels in love with them.
They were always super good-looking – but ran away at the first sign of commitment. And when I finally got it down on paper and took a cold hard look, the findings were hard to ignore. The love addict-meets-avoidant cycle was obvious – just like Bridget Jones and Daniel Cleaver.
There was my first proper boyfriend aged 16, the pretty-boy Robert; followed by the James Dean-type Barney when I was 17. Then the waterskiing TV producer, David, when I hit 22 – and the hippy surfer Adam, when I was around 26. The great love of my life, Alex, came in my thirties. I went on to have kids with him after he died, using his frozen sperm.
All my love affairs had one major thing in common: they left me heartbroken.
I found myself calling them desperately to change their minds, staging an accident outside their house for attention, “pocket dialling” them, acting like I was in Fatal Attraction – or even convincing myself an ex was still around as a ghost, as I’ve done with Alex, in my desperate attempt to maintain the relationship that is well and truly over.
But the time eventually came when I realised that rather than feel like a victim and barricade myself in my bedroom every time I got dumped, crying my eyes out, I needed to take full responsibility. So, I picked up a book about love addiction. And I realised I had an unconscious terror of intimacy.
I got a top love addict therapist. Once she drew me the love cycle diagram on a whiteboard, my dating life took on a whole new meaning,
This was my pattern: I would fall madly in love (or “fall into addiction”, as the therapist rephrased it). I would always choose somebody emotionally avoidant – I found their aloofness powerful and seductive. I’d go on a dopamine high as the “fantasy” was triggered... I’d found nirvana with this person! I was rescued from the pain of loneliness and emptiness... I was loved! Everything was okay! Phew!
We had the honeymoon period and I floated around on a pink cloud for a bit. But soon, they pulled away.
This made me feel incredibly insecure. I couldn’t help asking cringy questions, like: “Why don’t you love me anymore?” I was unable to eat – the craving and obsession for my ex-partner continued around the clock. I thought I was going to die of pain. Then, the cycle continued with a whole new partner.
I decided to meet up with some of my ex-partners and old flames to talk about what had gone wrong – and how I’d acted. One of them didn’t have a clue what I was talking about when I met him in a pub, so I changed the subject quickly. Another ex apologised to me. He said: “I’m really sorry, I have no idea why I split up with you.” No surprise, he was also in therapy.
I now know that I had to learn to stop depending on external validation to show me that I was loveable. I’d grown up believing that I needed another person to make me whole. And I subconsciously chose partners who couldn’t give me what I thought I wanted – to reinforce that core belief.
And so I went to therapy and joined a love addiction support group and went to meetings. It might not be for everyone, but it worked for me – I learned to focus on myself, rather than point the finger at my boyfriends (or, should I say, ex-boyfriends).
Blaming another person for making (or breaking) me wasn’t fair on them. The real solution – cheesy as it sounds? I needed to learn to love myself.
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