I broke up with the best man I’ve ever known because I deserve more.

Stupid is as stupid does.

And immediately that’s how I felt. Stupid.

“I don’t think I can be in this relationship anymore”

Once I’d said it, I couldn’t put the genie back in the bottle.

Why the fuck did I have to go and open my big fucking mouth?! I love him, he’s perfect and now I can’t take it back and he’s probably gone forever.

The stages of grief set in almost immediately.

I’m really throwing away the best thing I’ve ever had with the best person I’ve ever known.

No— I wasn’t on some self-sabotage rampage. Quite the opposite. It had become increasingly clear to me that although I was deeply in love and committed, we were both faithful and honest and kind to one another— something wasn’t working for me.

It probably goes without saying but the first thing anyone should know about me is that I love hard.

I have one speed setting and that is all-consuming, be-the-father-of-my-kids level intensity.

It seemed like we were both like that at the beginning. He never promised me the world. We were never reckless with each others hearts but he looked in my face after knowing me for two weeks and he said “I’ve never felt like this. It’s you. I want you.” and he meant it. He wanted me by his side whenever I could be. It was me. Always me.

Somewhere along the way, it felt like it stopped being me. I stopped being a priority. I slowly moved down his list as he moved up mine.

He still loved me and wanted me but things were slipping.

It started with goodnight texts (or lack thereof).

Even at the start, we never did the all day texting or calling thing. It’s not me and it’s not him. We are phones-down-and-be-present type people. But just once or twice a day was enough. That was all. Just check in. A text or super quick call. We were in different countries a lot of the time so it was our only way to stay connected.

The first time I noticed communication begin to die out, I pulled him up on it and he apologised. He blamed the time difference and travelling and the fact he’s never on his phone (a trait that worked in my favour when we were together but I saw it as a small price to pay when we were apart).

I knew then. I knew then this wasn’t going to end well for me if something didn’t change but I thought it was a me thing.

I thought “this is my opportunity to learn more patience and trust and how to be more relaxed. I can be in a healthy, loving relationship and it doesn’t have to consume me”.

But the next time he went 24 hours without saying a single word to me, I cried myself to sleep.

Nobody is that busy. Nobody. He keeps his phone on him.

I lightly mentioned it again. No screaming, no shouting- just a light mention. He shrugged it off again. He was with friends. Having a beer. Busy.

and he promised to make more of an effort in the future.

Cut to: we’re almost a year in. We’re in bed and he’s gone from waking up and me being the first thing he reaches for, to waking up and reaching for his phone— the one he one insists he’s never on when we’re apart.

oh no.

I feel invisible.

I can’t make you love me more. I can’t make you see me. And I can’t unsee it.

I never thought he was cheating. He wasn’t. I just stopped being a priority and the further down his list I was, the more the relationship consumed me in the worst way.

Now, a missed goodnight text had me bedridden for a day because it had grown into something abhorrent— complete self abandonment.

The act of asking my boyfriend who I’ve loved for almost a year to just acknowledge me once a day, before he goes to sleep, had become soul destroying.

I thought of him all day every day and I found myself increasingly checking my phone for my daily dose of affection that never came. And on top of that, I spent our time together searching for evidence that he loves me and coming up short.

By the end I’d sit across from him, cross legged on the bed while he was giving his attention to his phone instead of me, wondering if he even loved me in that moment.

I have no shame and so I asked him— and he stuttered.

Oh no.

He’s not a politician but whatever answer he gave could’ve had me fooled. It was a politicians answer if I ever heard one.

Oh god.

He doesn’t know it yet but there was a moment that I stopped setting his world on fire and he decided that was okay and decided to keep me around anyway. It wasn’t intentional. It wasn’t malicious. It just was. I knew it and I felt it and I stayed for a little while longer to make sure I wasn’t crazy and because I thought it was a small price to pay. So what- he has other priorities. Other things he cares about more than me. A lot of things. More and more things. I thought that maybe this is what emotional regulation looked like. I thought that maybe that was healthy.

But it wasn’t. It was costing my sanity. My entire being was being compromised.

I love him so completely. My god, it hurts. He’s the kindest and most wonderful human I’ve ever met. I got along with his family and his friends. I love the person I am with him. I have never been happier in a relationship. Ever. Not even close. And still, I had to leave because the most integral parts of me had to be extinguished in order for me to stay.

I felt like my passion was all of a sudden too much. The more I loved, the more he was chilly and nonchalant and pretty soon it felt like I was carrying emotional weight for two and I couldn’t hide it.

My mum caught it first. Then my sister and my dad and then my friends and then it was showing up in everything I wrote.

There was no chaos. No fighting. No cheating. No abuse.

In every single relationship I’ve ever had, my one and only regret was not leaving when I knew. I wasted so much time. I’ve always squeezed the life out of every single relationship and then I’d make an exit plan and slip out the back door once there was nothing left.

I couldn’t do that again. Not to him. Not to myself.

So I walked away from the only relationship that I ever thrived in.
It was the hardest thing I’ve ever done and that’s how I know it will pay off.

I’m about to enter my thirties sober and now single which is fucking terrifying but the version of me I’m striving to be doesn’t beg for scraps. Ever.

Wanna know how it feels to choose yourself?

Fucking shit, actually. Fucking horrible. But my mum, friends and ChatGPT said it gets better and have assured me I probably won’t die alone.

See you next time in the confessional,

Blithe x

---

Because It’s Her
by Blithe Saxon

I want you to love me to the point of invention and re-invention
until I’m a dozen girls you made up just to survive the wanting.

Let me be the one who taught you the word ache.
The one with sleep in her eyes and blood on her knees,

still choosing you.

Break me into versions. Name them after the seasons you met me in.
Call the winter one cruel, call the summer one soft.

Say: She’s different when she’s laughing. She’s different when she’s mine.

I want to be your who and your why.
Your no one else.

Your I saw her across the room and forgot my name

I want to be the trembling. The half-lie. The ghost in your favorite shirt.

And when asked, I want the answer to always be:

Because it’s her.
Because it’s her.
Because it’s her.

Because she cried into my mouth once and I didn’t flinch.
Because I know the shape of her ribs from memory.
Because she made me feel something, and then she made me feel everything.

Love me like I was your idea.
Love me like a house you built with your bare hands,
and now you can’t remember how to leave.

Let me be the lie you tell yourself to feel clean.
Let me be the bruise you press, just to be sure it’s still there.

Because it’s her.
It’s still her.
Even now.
Even after.
Even when you swear you’ve forgotten.

---

💌 Author’s Note (Updated June 20, 2025)
This note was written after the original post.

When I first shared this post, I was just trying to metabolise something tender and difficult. It was never intended as a takedown or a lesson. It was written late at night, from the depths of the ache, when I still wasn’t sure if I’d made the right choice. I wasn’t looking to be brave. I didn’t want applause or sympathy. I was just trying to be honest.

I write diaries, not think pieces.

When it began to gain traction (and backlash), I panicked.
I felt like I had to defend myself.
So I added an author’s note—the original one. The one that came from pressure and fear rather than clarity.
And I regret it.

That version of me felt cornered.
So I sharpened my softness into proof and in doing so, I think I lost some of the quiet power the original post held.

I said more than I needed to and that was never what this was about.
I wanted to write through the ache and hold space for my truth, while still protecting sacred parts of a relationship with a person I hold dear.
I shouldn’t have to put his head on a chopping block to defend myself.

This was a breakup between two consenting adults.
It wasn’t chaos or cruelty on my part, or his.
I wasn’t the villain in his story (trust me… you just know I gave him an exit interview afterwards).

We both chose to walk away, for reasons that don’t need to be dissected by strangers while I’m still dealing with the emotional aftermath of an incredibly human experience.

Just because I shared it on the internet doesn’t make it yours.
It was mine. And it was ours.
This is still my story.
I’m just telling it unfiltered, in real time, verging on emotional collapse.

I never claimed to be a hero or a preacher.
I’m just another Lover Girl on the internet.

Thank you for reading with care.
Blithe x

Anyway… so as not to mislead you any further, I’ve decided to rename my publication The Diary of a Lover Girl —just so you know exactly what you’re in for when you come here.