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The Adult Break-Up.

I’ve been wondering what an “adult breakup” would feel like. Would we wish each other well, insist the other person keeps the most expensive piece of furniture, and then embrace before leaving?

Would I walk around the house that I spent so much time, money and thought into and take note of who gets what? Would the idea of separating our things and packing it all up be unbearable?

Will I sob? Since I’m an adult now, I suppose I’d still go to work. A grown ass woman doesn’t take the day off because her heart hurts does she? In between combing my hair and getting ready, I’ll probably bawl my eyes out while listening to Lizzo’s “Good as Hell”. I must feel pretty bad if I’m crying to a Lizzo song.

Would I replace my daydreams of wedding vows, an award ceremony for my husband where I’m pregnant, and the vision of my baby-girl’s curls with the reality of a studio apartment almost in the ghetto and corny messages on Bumble?

Would my girlfriends force me out of the house for a girls night out and stay up past 10pm, so that I can dance until my feet and soul went numb? Would they push me towards the cutest guy even though they know I’m too awkward to say anything? Will I sleep with him anyway just to fuck the pain away? Adults know better – right?

Will I stalk his Instagram stories? Will I check to see who’s paying him on Venmo? Will I feel a type of way when he takes our pictures down? Will I even stay friends with him on social media?

Will I be able to apply all the meditating. All the books. All the quotes. And all the exercises I learned in therapy? Or would I revert back to being in my twenties, call myself names and peel myself off of the bathroom floor at night?

When I was in college, I legitimately – not to mention naively, thought that once you turn a certain age (30 sounded like a good number) you are magically immune to getting your heartbroken. As if it was a rite of passage or some shit. If you’ve been reading my blog, you see how well that theory played out. Now that I’m even older, am I even more dense to think that I’d be able to handle a break up better?

Breaking up is hard to do regardless of how you do it, when you do it, where you do it, or how old you are when you do it. And asides from airing out dirty laundry on social media, throwing all of his Jordans out the window, and causing a scene at the club – an adult break up is just like any break up: HARD. And painful as fuck.

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