I stayed because of the expressions on people’s faces when I told them how long we had been dating. I talked myself out of leaving because of how wonderful a story it would make if I married my high school sweetheart. I held on because I let hope cloud my judgement every time I doubted our relationship. For many years, I chose us, above all else. Then one day, I finally chose me.

It’s the average tale, as my co-worker would put it, where we “grew up and grew apart.” This is true, but there is also so much more to be said. I grew into a version of myself I was finally becoming proud of, and he wasn’t meeting me there. There was nothing wrong with the man he became, but he wasn’t the man for me. For a long time, I did what all young women at some point do: I tried to change him. I tried to fit him into my life by making him into someone I needed him to be, someone he wasn’t. Then when I realized I couldn’t do that, I tried changing me.

I gave up things I liked to do. I convinced myself that I didn't need to be taken on dates, or be sent flowers, or told how beautiful I was. I held on to the idea that being a strong and independent woman meant I shouldn’t care about sweet gestures. But no matter how much I tried to shove it down, I couldn’t help feeling like I was missing out. I couldn’t help feeling like I was making excuses for him, and for myself.

In his eyes, he didn’t do anything terribly wrong. For a long time, I told myself that since he didn’t betray me or hurt me in some horrible way, I was being selfish for wanting to leave. But I also believe treating someone you’re supposed to love like an average friend is hurtful in itself. We were far too invested for him to ever see how incomplete he was making me feel. I went back and forth telling myself “I expect too much” one minute and “I deserve better” the next. I lived for the rare occasion he did something nice, then became confused, once again, when those moments fled. Choosing whether to keep working on us, or to enter into the unknown territory of singleness that I had not been a part of for many years was the hardest part of it all.

I want so badly to say that the weeks following the day I ended things were a rush of emotions, or a time of self-searching, adventure, and change. But they weren't. The thing I felt most after letting go for the last time was relief. The lessons that followed have been worthwhile.

I have no contempt towards him. I am thankful for all those years. Because of our relationship, I have realized what I deserve, and I have promised myself to always expect just that. I have learned to be confident in what I want. I have accepted that the length of time you have been with someone does not matter when you are with the right person.

I held on so tightly because I believed our story was one everyone was supposed to want. I thought that if we came this far, giving up now would be a mistake. But I didn't give up; I set out to finally find what makes me happy and learn how to be true to myself. For many years, I feared nothing else would be able to fill those shoes. I was wrong. There is better out there. There is clarity instead of confusion. There is laughter instead of fear, and peace of mind instead of doubt. You can’t let the length of time you have been with someone determine if they are worth the pieces of yourself you give up. For a life designed perfectly for you is out there, but you have to chose yourself to find it.