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A+ Roundtable: The Relationships We Stayed In Too Long

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Jan 28, 2022

February holds a different kind of anniverary for me. When the icy part of winter returns, and the endless cycle of melting and freezing creates a thick, unfriendly crust on top of the dirty snow, I remember the last relationship I was in that went on too long. This is because, in 12 short days, I’ll mark, as I do every year, the day when I woke up and started to put plans in motion to leave. In the end, it’s the leaving that stays with me, that feels important.

When I put out the call for answers to this roundtable, I wasn’t sure how many people would want to share something so vulnerable even if it is tucked away in the A+ section, if anyone would want to talk about staying too long, or if they would not want to look back, not write about it, leave things the way they are. I was blown away, grateful, awed that 12 of us here at Autostraddle wrote about this topic. I hope that if you need this today, that it brings you some comfort, or whatever you may need. We’ve all been there, lonely and worried about what it means to leave the familiar — but we are not alone when we share our experiences.

Thank you for being a steward of this space, for being a member, for being here with us.

Nicole

Analyssa , Writer

There’s a quote I think about a lot, which is from Infinite Jest, but which I encountered in the book The Recovering by Leslie Jamison: “Everything I’ve ever let go of has claw marks on it.” And that’s to say, really, that I’ve stayed in exactly every relationship at least just a bit too long, and most of them so terribly far past that point that I wasn’t even leaving claw marks, I was leaving behind a pile of shreds.

But there are two big relationships in my life, both years-long and actually never officially labeled, that I clung to for years when it was probably better for all parties for me to let go. One was the first girl I dated in LA, who insisted that she didn’t want to be in a relationship despite the fact that we were acting like we were girlfriends. We continued hooking up, ending things, reuniting (once, in a rom-com-esque twist, when we were assigned the same Lyft line after a queer party) for almost four years! It ended really simply, after all that, one hookup happened to be our last, and we just didn’t know it at the time. We’re now on friendly terms but I could have saved myself a lot of heartache (and messy drunk texts!) if I’d just accepted what she told me about not wanting a relationship, instead of believing that I knew better what she wanted.

The really big one, for me, is my college ex, my first turned-my-world-upside-down queer crush. When we first met, both of us IDed as straight, and I came to understand my feelings pretty quickly but it took (again) years for us to be on the same page (years of spooning to sleep and drunk kissing and a lot of angst and both of us dating other people all the while). By that time, I couldn’t bring myself to trust that they finally wanted to be with me. But I hated that I couldn’t get out of my head when we’d reached a point where that was seemingly the only thing standing in the way. And instead of trying to talk through that, I pulled away and then threw myself back in again and on and on for two more years. Almost five years after we first met, I finally decided not to be in contact anymore to try to actually move on. I regret how I handled the end of it all, and I am bummed that there are questions about that relationship that I’ll probably never get answers to because I didn’t ask them when I should have, but amazingly, we are friends again (after nearly two years of not speaking), which feels like a real gift.

I’d like to say that now, I wouldn’t get into a situation like these, that I’d be better at communicating and actually listening and all that jazz, but who knows. Those connections feel rare to me, and maybe worth sticking my claws into a bit — so I guess I just hope the next relationship I feel that way about won’t require claws at all.

Ro White , Sex & Dating Editor

In my early 20s, I entered into a relationship with someone who was, in many ways, a great match for me. We shared the same politics, we liked the same books and music, and we were both working in the same creative field. We ended up making a lot of art together, and that felt exciting! We moved in together, she became part of my social circle and our lives became deeply intertwined. I eventually recognized that I was feeling suffocated, so I started spending more one-on-one time with friends and pursuing my own work and hobbies. I wanted to regain my sense of self and maintain a healthy relationship. But when I engaged in activities that didn’t involve my partner, she would often react with anger. Once I was out of town on a work-related trip. My partner called me, and I didn’t answer at first — I was at a loud event and didn’t hear my phone ringing. She called over and over again. When I eventually picked up, she screamed at me and told me that I was selfish and I must not really love her. That should have been when I ended things (technically, I should have ended the relationship long before this incident, but this was one of the more glaringly obvious red flag moments). But I loved my partner. She had been with me through so much, and I was trying so hard to be understanding.

I’d always known that my partner was struggling with mental illness — I was also living with depression and anxiety (which I’ve since learned was undiagnosed OCD), and we talked about our shared experiences. But I was seeing a therapist and reaching out to friends for support, and my partner wasn’t doing much to manage her mental health. For most of our relationship, she refused to see a therapist. She refused to be honest about her mental health with her friends and family, even when she was in crisis. I felt like I was her entire support system, and when her anxiety turned into anger, she would lash out at me. Sometimes I felt solely responsible for keeping her safe. This had been the case for years, and it was not a healthy situation for me.

For her, the breakup felt sudden, but for me, it was a long time coming. I certainly didn’t initiate that conversation at the right time or in a responsible way — I had a final straw moment and told her I couldn’t be with her anymore — but I had to do it. Of course, it went badly, and of course, her version of the events surrounding our breakup — the version that she shared with friends and colleagues in person and on social media — was very, very different from mine. As a result, I lost career opportunities. I also lost many, many friends who either thought I was an asshole or feared being associated with me. It was a truly awful experience, but I’m so glad that my younger self found the courage to step away from that relationship.

Heather Hogan , Senior Writer + Editor

I’ve never stayed in a romantic relationship for too long, or even really a friendship for too long — but the person I did stay in a relationship with for too long is my mother, who has a variety of untreated mental illnesses, unaddressed addictions, and is completely incapable of telling the truth or accepting responsibility for her actions. Being near my mom is like constantly living with logic, facts, and even your reality under constant assault. My mom could literally slap me in the face, blink, and then look me in the eyes and say with complete sincerity that she didn’t slap me in the face. It goes like: My mom is incapable of believing she does things wrong, and since smacking your kid is a wrong thing, she can’t believe that she would smack her kid, even directly after smacking her kid. “I’m not the kind of person who would smack my kid.” And therefore she did not smack her kid. And to suggest she would smack her kid, even if you are the kid who just got smacked, it tantamount to YOU attacking HER. Because she would NEVER, you ungrateful little so-and-so.

That’s how I grew up, and that was my life for 27 years. She coerced, manipulated, and abused me into significant debt, into forever-therapy, and into having a nervous system that is so fried from living the first several decades of my life in constant fight or flight that my literal physiology has been altered. It takes everything I have, every single day, to live outside the intergenerational trauma of toxic stress that she inflicted on me. My therapist calls me a “low-lick puppy” — because research shows that puppies’ nervous systems develop lifetime habits within the first ten days of being born! And if puppy-moms don’t make sure their puppies feel safe and warm with grooming, or have enough to eat, or feel protected from the huge harsh world, their little puppy brains grow differently and they are kinda stressed out forever. (Or until they can get into a high-lick home!)

Anyway, my mom and my church and general society made me feel like it was my responsibility to take care of her, no matter how horribly it wrecked my life. She’s your mom, you only get one, she tried her hardest, blood is thicker than water, you owe her, parenting doesn’t come with a manual, etc. But when I was 27, she sent a series of increasingly unhinged and threatening texts to me that peaked with her threatening to “find” and “take” my nephew. She ended her tirade with “I’m tired of playing. I’ll have what’s mine.” And I completely and totally cut her out of my life. I may have been a low-lick puppy but there’s no way on EARTH I was gonna let her do to my nephew what she did to me and my sister. I wrote her a letter, I filed a family protective order against her, and I have not spoken to her since then, no matter how many times she’s reached out to lash out, or to tell me that I’ve just imagined my whole entire childhood.

Best decision I ever made. Hardest. And best.

Vanessa Friedman , Community Editor

I try very hard not to write about my exes too specifically if they weren’t abusive (I have had medium success with this boundary and could definitely have done a better job at different times, but I really fucking try) so this is a little bit of a hard one for me… I don’t want to actively call anyone out and I don’t want to go into specifics. So.

I guess I will say that with one of my exes, I loved her so much, and we were so not the right fit for each other, and I tried so hard, and I guess maybe she was trying so hard too but it certainly didn’t feel like it, and when I finally got the nerve to breakup with her she begged me to stay and I… did. I knew we needed to breakup but I didn’t really want to, so I took it back and I let her convince me that the presents and the promises and the “I’m sorry”s were going to make a difference, but I knew in my heart they wouldn’t, and I was right.

The reason I regret staying with this ex is because she ended up cheating on me during that time period from when I first tried to break up with her and when we eventually called it quits for real. We were in an open relationship, so it was especially hurtful to me that she felt the need to lie and sneak around, but a part of me feels responsible too, even though I know I shouldn’t take that on. But I knew we needed to end, you know? I knew we did not want the same things and I knew she was incapable of showing up for me the way I needed her to show up. If we had broken up when I initially called it, she wouldn’t have cheated, because we would’ve been, you know, broken up. Instead I let her seduce me into staying and I had anxiety stomach aches every day for almost six months because I could feel her lying to me but she swore she wasn’t and I felt insane.

Near the very end, when I knew we would be over soon for real, my best friend surprised me by saying she’d been thinking of me as single for months. I was very much not single, I had very much not pulled off the breakup, but in her mind, I had. “My mom asked me if you’re seeing anyone the other day,” she said to me, “and I told her not really. I told her you’ve been having a messy lesbian breakup for the past few months but you’ve been pretty single since the summer.” And it sounds ridiculous, but that was the wakeup call I needed. My best friend was right. I was not really “seeing anyone” — I was somehow remaining tethered to a relationship that was, as Taylor Swift might say, absolutely “dead and gone and buried,” and it was making me really fucking miserable. We broke up for real for real a few days later, I asked for a 90 day no contact boundary, I found out about the lies and the cheating soon after, and my stomach aches completely disappeared once this person was no longer in my life.

I share this specific story because it was a good wakeup call to me. I know when a relationship is over. I know when it’s time to go. And when I compromised myself and my boundaries to stay, it harmed me. My new promise to me is that when my body tells me something is wrong, to listen. Even if — actually, especially if — that means leaving.

Em Win , Team Writer

I once met someone at a Valentine’s Day party and we ended up only dating for a year (which for me is pretty long haha), but it probably should’ve ended long before that. When I met him, I had just moved to LA with no job and no apartment, and he had just come out as trans, so we were both navigating a lot. Our very first date was supposed to be a romantic picnic in the park, but instead, turned us (well, him) on the phone with his Christian parents talking to them about his name change for two hours. Basically, things between us got very vulnerable very fast. We were in this amazing honeymoon phase for about three months until life started to get really complicated. In the thick of the pandemic, we both had to suddenly move apartments due to unexpected emergency circumstances and through that, often had to rely on each other for emotional or physical needs. We certainly flirted with codependency, but that’s ultimately not what ended us.

Secretly, I think I knew it was over when I told my therapist four months in that I was nervous about our future together simply because of our individual identities. He had really only expressed interest in men until he met me, and I had really only expressed interest in women and non-binary folks until I met him, which as you can imagine, made our attraction to each other super complicated. I never wanted him to feel like I was insensitive to his trans identity and he never wanted me to feel insecure about sexuality in relation to his identities. Eventually, the worries grew stronger and it affected our emotional and sexual connection. The longer we dated, the more we realized that he only saw himself with men and I only saw myself with women, despite us *knowing* that gender is a construct and both of our sexualities are technically pretty fluid. The toughest part about our relationship was navigating all of these extremely confusing questions around gender and sexuality and how that impacted us individually and as a couple. No matter how much therapy we went to or friend advice we sought, we could never really find people who understood what we were going through.

At our year anniversary, things took a turn for the ugly and he ghosted me for about 3 weeks before breaking up with me. I was devastated and confused at the time, but after a year removed from the relationship, I can clearly see that we were never going to be compatible.

danijanae , Writer

Wow I think I stayed in my previous relationship too long, and we were together for a year and four months. I knew from early on that there were signs of trouble that I ignored. The fact that she insisted on staying in community with exes was a red flag. She cheated on her first girlfriend and told me she believed I would cheat on her because she had been a cheater. Which is weird logic but I let that red flag pass. The biggest red flag was her taking credit for things that I had done for myself, insisting that she was my only emotional support (despite me having friends and a therapist!), trying to put herself in charge of my finances, lots of bad stuff.

I had a goal in my mind: we have to make it to a year to prove I’m lovable. I grew up not feeling loved so in my first real relationship I thought I had to put up with anything to prove that I could love and that someone could love me. I had dated a lot but things always ended in like 2-4 months so I truly believed something was wrong with me and that no matter how she made me feel, what she did to me, I had to stay to prove something to myself.

I also stayed because I was scared. I never thought she would hit me until after we broke up and we had a talk about me being friends with someone she despised. She stopped herself from lurching across the table at me and that’s
When I knew it would have only been a matter of time before things reached that point of violence.

I wish I would have left when I realized she was jealous and possessive but I was young and hurting, I have much more empathy for myself now, even some for her. Love is messy and weird. I’m glad I got out when I did but I should have done it sooner.

Meg Jones Wall , Writer

I’m not a big believer in regret, personally — I really do think that every decision and event, the good and the bad, contributes to the people that we are, and it’s hard for me to envision who I would be if I’d left certain relationships sooner or dealt with messy situations differently. I’ve been treated badly by partners, and didn’t always stand up for myself. But in spite of how much I valued and appreciated my ex-husband, we almost certainly stayed married longer than we should’ve.

A brilliant and kind man, my ex and I got married when we were 23 (thanks, purity culture!), and in many ways, we grew up together. In our eleven years of marriage we navigated hirings and firings, cross-country and international moves, complex finances, family struggles and deaths, illness and hospitalizations, my coming out, grad school for both of us, and so many other things. It’s impossible for me to imagine my life without him. Yet for several years before we decided to split I knew, in that hidden part of my mind that I was so good at avoiding, that the marriage wasn’t giving either of us everything that we needed, and that the love and attraction I’d once felt for him had faded into a joyful, solid, trusting friendship. There was still a lot of affection and care between us, but it didn’t feel romantic anymore, and it took me a long time to acknowledge that I wanted more for myself, and even longer to be brave enough to take the chance and actually ask for it.

I know that part of the reason that I stayed so long was because of our history, our friendship, and the love that was still present — and with his busy work travel schedule and the sudden death of a sibling, it never felt like the right time, never felt like we had the space to talk. But I also have to acknowledge that for all of the good things that kept me in my marriage, I was also deeply afraid that I wouldn’t be able to financially support myself if we separated. I’m not proud of this, but I also know I’m not alone: getting divorced during a pandemic, as a creative professional and unemployed freelancer with few prospects, was completely terrifying. I didn’t know if I could do it, wasn’t sure if I was smart or strong enough.

And if I’m being honest, I still don’t! NYC is expensive and making a living as a writer and photographer is really hard! But I’m in an incredible relationship, have so many dreams for my future, and am as happy as I’ve ever been. Getting a divorce and starting over may have been scary, but it was also absolutely worth it.

I also stayed in a relationship with Jesus and the church for too long, but that’s a different story.

Casey , Contributor

Well this question took me back in time! I definitely stayed too long in my first serious queer relationship. I feel like I’m echoing Ro here, which maybe says something about the kinds of relationships we have in our twenties, but my ex-girlfriend and I were so compatible, or so it seemed! We loved listening to the same music, going to the same queer events, reading the same books, and riding our bikes around town. We were both in academia and loved talking about queer and feminist theory.

Fast forward three years and my ex and I were living in a different city, both still in academia (she was still loving it while I was beginning to hate it). We had come to a kind of fork in the road in that she would need to move to do her fieldwork, likely for a year, whereas I would need to stay where we were currently living if I continued with my grad program.

Around the same time, she also started acting weird, pulling away emotionally. She started suggesting we try polyamory, which is not something either of us had ever (or since) expressed interest in. I remember feeling like something had changed but I was too scared to address it head on.

I ended up quitting my PhD program and moving back to my home province, whereas she moved across the country to do her fieldwork research. Somehow, even though this would have been the logical time to end things, we continued to drag it out for months afterward, trying to sustain some kind of relationship long distance. I was definitely putting in more effort than her, and she continued to act strangely.

I realize now her behaviour was a type of slow very drawn out breakup that made the breakup worse than it could have been. I know (having processed and talked about it with her much later in true dyke fashion haha) that she acted that way because she didn’t want to hurt me, as well as because she was scared about initiating the breakup and about being by herself. Looking back I wish I had had the emotional intelligence to call her out on her behaviour directly and perhaps do the breaking up myself. But I’m also trying not to be too hard on my baby gay self. It’s really hard to let your first gay love go!

Nico Hall , Team Writer

If I look at the last relationship where I stayed too long, one of the things I told myself at the time was that we had a bond formed through years of going through so many different life experiences together, through being a couple of queer people who got each other and who shared an interest in exploring and deepening our understanding of our queer identities and in cultivating resistance to cishet norms. I felt that no one else would really be able to truly see me in the same way or, really, I stopped believing that anyone would want to. Ultimately, none of that was really true. We did not have shared values. I was in fact loveable, or could be, even if I didn’t think so. My dreams and needs became increasingly irrelevant within the confines of our relationship, so none of the lines I was repeating to myself about our being a mutually supportive creative couple were really true. Our shared history just meant that my ex was able to use my memories against me in his endless crusade to prove that I was a “bad person.”

In the midst of what was in fact emotional and sexual abuse ratcheting up, I didn’t even want to get married, and yet I got married! When I went through with it, I wondered where youthful me had gone. They’d been unafraid of leaving, even if other people complained about getting dumped, even if their friends looked at them sideways or they had to find whole new groups of friends after a breakup. That younger me knew from experiences I had even earlier in life to get out before things went downhill.

I re-learned how to get out, and how to ignore other peoples’ nebby feelings about my choices, and it was one of the best things I’ve ever done for myself. It’s no secret around these parts that I’m a happy member of Club Divorcee, and while I did stay too long, I mostly feel incredibly, solidly happy that I ended the relationship when I realized that was what I needed to do.

Carmen Phillips , Former Editor-in-Chief

The only real time I’ve written about my romantic life on Autostraddle, it was about the relationship I should have left. Which is also about being in the closet, and how — for me — coming into myself and out of the closet also meant no longer being someone else’s secret. I fell in love with my best friend when I was 19 years old, so head over heels in love that I convinced myself for years that being with her when no one was looking but the two of us was enough. And I wish, I WISH, this story ended with me becoming brave enough and loving myself enough to walk away.

It does not. She broke up with me after graduation. I was heartbroken for the better part of the next year. If she would have taken me back, I would’ve done it. I know I would have. I’m not sure what I learned.

I know that my first time really exploring my queerness was shrouded in someone else’s secrecy and shame. I know that at some point, her shame became my own — I still didn’t fully come out for another three years after our break up. I sometimes wonder if stemming from that is why, to this day, as a seemingly well adjusted queer adult who dates and is the EIC of a queer website (some would say, professionally gay) I still don’t talk much about my relationships. If it’s where I learned such strong boundaries. If those boundaries are not necessarily a good thing at all.

Valerie Anne , Writer

The thing is, I knew. It wasn’t a “hindsight is 20-20” situation. In the moment, I knew. But I had just stumbled out of the closet and directly into a heap of heartbreak, so I wasn’t about to walk away from someone who was attracted to me. But I knew I should have left. I knew I should have left the first time I spent the night, when she kicked me out of her house at 6am even though we had gotten there just a few hours ago because she didn’t want her mom to find out she had a girl over, not even if we lied and said we were just friends. I knew I should have left the first time a bartender bought me pity shots because she was two hours late. I should have known the first time a different bartender bought me pity shots because she had left me alone at the bar while she hooked up with someone else in the bathroom. (And when she got mad at me for being mad, because “we’re not exclusive” even though I wasn’t mad she hooked up with someone else, I was mad because she left me alone at a bar for an hour.) I should have left the first time a bartender gave me $5 to put in the jukebox because he felt bad that she was four hours late. I should have left the time she screamed at me until I was crying on the street because I made out with someone else, unaware that the “we’re not exclusive” rule she was extremely insistent on only goes one way. I finally did leave after our worst fight. The fight that crossed a line for me. Not immediately, it’s never that easy, but it was the first real step toward me leaving. I knew I should have left every step along the way, but I was young and just excited that someone was attracted to me, and so I didn’t. Until I did. I’ll never forget the last text she sent me. It said, “Have a nice life,” and I know she meant it in the flippant way teens in 90s movies mean it, but I remember feeling a sense of relief knowing that now that she was gone, I finally might.

Drew Burnett Gregory , Senior Editor

I don’t stay in relationships for too long and that’s because I did it once. I broke up with my first serious girlfriend right before she was set to do a year abroad, because I knew long distance wouldn’t work for us and the relationship had run its course. But I still loved her and when she called me from Italy asking to get back together, I followed my 19 year old heart. What followed were six terrible months that ended with my 20 year old heart being broken.

I know relationships aren’t clinical and every one is different, but I think I walked away from that experience determined not to repeat it. Why ruin a great year long relationship by making it a bad a year and a half long one?

And yet, I think this is why my most recent ex resents me. She thinks I ended our relationship suddenly and didn’t give us a chance. I internalized this narrative and felt bad about it but with some years of distance, I see that I did give us a chance. It wasn’t a three and a half year relationship that I ended the minute things got bad. It was three amazing years, six gradually worsening months, and a clean break when I felt it was beyond saving. I don’t regret that. I don’t think six more months of angst and fighting would’ve led to a friendship.

Being alone is hard but I would always rather be alone than be in a relationship that isn’t working. That is the loneliest feeling in the world.

COMMENT (18)

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Comments

chrispychips

January 28, 2022 at 11:12 am

“I had a goal in my mind: we have to make it to a year to prove I’m lovable.” This was me in my first relationship. Glad I learned from that experience!

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Chandra

January 28, 2022 at 11:35 am

Thank you for these vulnerable and moving stories 💚

I also stayed in my first queer relationship for too long, in my case because it had taken me so long to finally click with someone (I was 34 when we met) that I didn’t want to believe it couldn’t work out. I wasn’t afraid of being alone – I had been alone a lot already – but I also knew that wasn’t the life I wanted. I felt broken because I had never experienced the kind of whirlwind passion that other people seemed to find so easily, so I thought I had to settle for what I could get. She was actually the one who broke up with me first after 4 years, and at the time I was devastated and would have done anything to get her back. But in retrospect, after a subsequent messy crisis, I realized that the relationship had been dysfunctional for a long time and had eroded my previously strong self-esteem. It did teach me a lot, and I have better boundaries now and a better understanding of what I need, but it was traumatizing and I can’t say I’m grateful for the experience.

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Grace

January 28, 2022 at 12:23 pm

“ My therapist calls me a “low-lick puppy” — because research shows that puppies’ nervous systems develop lifetime habits within the first ten days of being born! And if puppy-moms don’t make sure their puppies feel safe and warm with grooming, or have enough to eat, or feel protected from the huge harsh world, their little puppy brains grow differently and they are kinda stressed out forever. (Or until they can get into a high-lick home!)”

This explains … a lot for and about me. Thank you for sharing this, Heather.

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Riese

January 28, 2022 at 4:11 pm

these were all such vulnerable stories thank you everybody for telling them

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alchemille

January 28, 2022 at 5:40 pm

this was so comforting to read in so many ways, thank you

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Luca

January 28, 2022 at 6:45 pm

thank you so much to all of you for sharing this very vulnerable, pulpy stories.

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Phoebe

January 29, 2022 at 12:54 am

Thank you so much for sharing your stories, they are all wonderfully written and reassuringly relatable.
Vanessa – your line about stomach aches lifting really hit me. Have been there many times and it’s taken me a long time to realise that I am not as much of an anxious person as I always thought, once I stopped giving time and energy to people who made me feel that way!

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Alexandra Pope

January 29, 2022 at 5:52 am

Valerie, I’d like to throw your ex into a pit of molten lava. I know the type, bunch of weak psychopaths.

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Evi

January 29, 2022 at 3:23 pm

oh i loveeee this. i have stayed in too many relationships for too long.

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Meghan

January 29, 2022 at 4:11 pm

As soon as I saw the title of this article, I knew I had to read it. I’ve done way too much staying too long in relationships and have been extremely cautious about starting new ones for some years now as a result

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Bex

January 29, 2022 at 4:46 pm

Em, I really related to what you shared about your relationship with your ex. My attraction to my first partner (who uses he/they pronouns) was complicated for very similar reasons. I had mostly been interested in feminine people in the past, whereas they were attracted to masculinity. (I’m agender and don’t like to be labeled as masc or femme.) It should have been a red flag when he said, “You’re not really the kind of person I WANT, but I know you’re the person I need right now.” Throughout our relationship, I worried about whether my ex found me attractive, but I wasn’t willing to listen to my heart when my attraction to him started changing. I knew that gender is a construct and that sexuality can be fluid… but I think my lack of honesty with myself ultimately harmed my ex. I appreciate you writing so openly about your experience.

Ro, I was a fan of your work in Chicago theatre, and I’m a fan of your work on this site. I’m so sorry that your ex treated you that way and that her version of events had such a profound impact on your career and relationships. Thanks for sharing your story.

Honestly, thanks everyone for sharing these stories! This was such an insightful roundtable, and I second everyone who says they found your responses comforting and relatable.

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Kelly

January 29, 2022 at 5:20 pm

Thank you all for sharing these. Lots of love to you all!

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Amanda

January 30, 2022 at 7:38 am

Dear everybody else sobbing about Heathers writing again, can confirm, peace is possible, and you personally deserve it.

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- Naanie
  
  January 30, 2022 at 9:09 am
  
  true!!!!!
  
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Christy

January 30, 2022 at 8:05 am

The is was such a powerful and moving collection.
Yes, I cried. I love sharing stories and finding connections in our experiences. Especially as I navigate my first year of divorce after 26y together. Lemme just say… there’s a lot to relate to here.

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Naanie

January 30, 2022 at 9:11 am

Heather. Thank you so much for sharing this. I am so glad you cut her off. I’m in a similar boat. Repairing the damage will take a long time (my nervous system is similarly in a shambles), but I finally learned I’m worth it, that I have needs that should be respected, which is a hard thing to accept when you’ve never really been treated like an autonomous person. Mega solidarity and peace to you.

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queermo

January 30, 2022 at 5:34 pm

Drew! That closing line to end yours and this whole piece on, what a gut punch. This is why you’re one of my favorite writers.

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Christina

January 31, 2022 at 8:53 am

Love to each of you for the vulnerability of sharing these stories.

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A+ Roundtable: The Relationships We Stayed In Too Long

Analyssa , Writer

Ro White , Sex & Dating Editor

Heather Hogan , Senior Writer + Editor

Vanessa Friedman , Community Editor

Em Win , Team Writer

danijanae , Writer

Meg Jones Wall , Writer

Casey , Contributor

Nico Hall , Team Writer

Carmen Phillips , Former Editor-in-Chief

Valerie Anne , Writer

Drew Burnett Gregory , Senior Editor

Did You Like This?

the team

I Don’t Want My Friend To Talk About Their Partner

Why Am I So Put Off By My Friend’s Constant Asks For Financial Help?

Comments

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Notes for a Queer Homemaker: States of Being, Not Moral Designations

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Short Fiction Playlist: Five Queer Stories That Find Humor in Sad Places

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I Don’t Want My Friend To Talk About Their Partner

Why Am I So Put Off By My Friend’s Constant Asks For Financial Help?

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How Much Do Lesbian Couples Need To Have In Common?

I Don’t Want My Friend To Talk About Their Partner

Why Am I So Put Off By My Friend’s Constant Asks For Financial Help?

Queer Dream Interpretation: What Do ‘Gross’ Dreams Mean?

How Much Do Lesbian Couples Need To Have In Common?

Account Account

Analyssa , Writer

Ro White , Sex & Dating Editor

Heather Hogan , Senior Writer + Editor

Vanessa Friedman , Community Editor

Em Win , Team Writer

danijanae , Writer

Meg Jones Wall , Writer

Casey , Contributor

Nico Hall , Team Writer

Carmen Phillips , Former Editor-in-Chief

Valerie Anne , Writer

Drew Burnett Gregory , Senior Editor

Did You Like This?

Comments

home

Notes for a Queer Homemaker: States of Being, Not Moral Designations

book lists

Short Fiction Playlist: Five Queer Stories That Find Humor in Sad Places

You May Also Like

Account