I think the most interesting thing about my second relationship is how much my perspective changed afterwards. After dating someone for two and a half months who was so incredibly different from my ex, I had to wonder: was my four months with her even really a “relationship”? Were we actually “dating”? Or was it simply a toxic friendship that became too intimate, too personal?
Because after dating C, I realized what a romance should really look like. It should have everything we had–comfort, support, communication, humor, closeness, mutual respect and affection, and the willingness to try new things, to always ask first, and to discuss every feeling and every reaction that could affect things. My other relationship had almost none of that, even though it was twice as long.
But just as I am now reluctant to call my relationship with my ex a dating/romantic one, I am also very averse to the idea of calling C my ex. The term “my ex” has been used so exclusively for that first person and is, in my mind, intertwined with the memories of her abuse and neglect. The first time I called C my “now-ex” girlfriend, it felt uncomfortable and wrong.
Continuing our streak of impeccable communication, the two of us met up to discuss how we wanted to handle the breakup a few days after the fact. Even though I’d only had the weekend to recover, asking to see her, waiting to see her, and subsequently seeing her did not send me into a panic or an emotional downward spiral during or after the fact. We were both slightly awkward but relatively chill about the whole thing, which was incredibly reassuring as we talked about ways to maintain our friendship.
She even agreed with me about the whole ex thing. “I don’t really consider us exes,” I finally said. “I see us more as friends who dated for a little while.”
I didn’t kid myself. I knew it would be hard. I had dramatic ups and downs, as usual. There were times I wanted to call her, text her, snap her, facebook her, during the time we agreed to be silent. Those feelings, and telling myself not to do it, were extremely difficult.
But in the end, the best feeling was knowing that when I chose to reach out, she was going to be there.
Because C is not like my ex. She understands me. She cares about me. She’s willing to work with me. And she loves me.
More than anything, she’s my friend, and for that reason I see no need to call her “my ex.” I’m going to call her my friend. I hope I can call her that for a long time yet.