I was 19 years old when I fell in love.
Before that moment, I never knew the feeling and the emotions of loving a partner. Sure, I’d had my share at “dating” before that, but looking back, those relationships were never serious. This feeling was ethereal; I could feel my soul beaming out of my body.
We were laying in the hammock of the house I shared with my two roommates. It was Valentine’s Day. The first Valentine’s Day I’d ever spent with a significant other. He’d showed up with a bouquet of sunflowers—my favorite flower. He looked over at me as we were swaying back and forth and said, “Now do you know what love feels like?” I stared into his bluish green eyes, and I could feel my stomach fluttering with ecstasy. I grabbed him as hard as I could. In my heart, I exclaimed, “This is the best feeling in the world.”
Fast forward five years and a whirlwind of memories, experiences, arguments, intimacy, and emotions, I can say that no one ever prepared me for the slow gradual burn of falling out of love.
It didn’t happen in one day. It was not one specific detrimental event that ended it all.
It took months and, in my experience, it’s taking years. We give and we give and give to those that we love and cherish. I didn’t want to give up on love.
It takes courage to let go and trust that something is no longer serving you. I would be lying if I said that I don’t catch myself thinking about what if. But the truth is, there is nothing that I could have done differently to change anything.
All the tears and confusion and the back and forth and communications and vulnerability. Relationships are our biggest life lessons. And I believe in that with my whole heart.
No one ever explained to me the difficulties of letting go, especially letting go of your first love. Heartbreak is inevitable.
Will I ever speak to him again? Probably.
Will I ever date him again? No.
Because I choose to stick up for myself. I choose me.
I was 24 years old when I fell out of love.