Being Single After 8+ Years — Freedom, Fear, and Reclaiming Myself

Category: 💔 From Love to Loss: The Relationship Arc

✦“There’s a strange kind of joy in starting over — when the world thinks you’re breaking, but really, you’re blooming.”✦

I used to think that walking away from a long-term relationship meant failure. That starting over meant I had lost. That being single again after eight years would feel like falling off a cliff.

But what I didn’t realize — not at first — was that I wasn’t falling.

I was catching myself.

Finally.

Eight years is a long time to be in something that no longer feels like home. It wasn’t a horrible relationship. There was no dramatic betrayal, no villain. Just a slow, quiet erosion of myself. I became a caretaker of someone else’s dreams, a keeper of the peace, a ghost of the woman I used to be.

And leaving? That was the scariest, most liberating thing I’ve ever done.

I didn’t have a roadmap for what came next. No checklist, no clear destination. Just this heavy, unfamiliar quiet — the kind that made the air feel thicker. Evenings stretched on without the familiar shuffle of footsteps through the door, without the background hum of someone else’s life filling the space. For the first time in years, it was just me… and the vast, open question of what my life would look like now.

At 26, I moved into my parents’ guest house — lost, confused, and unsure of what came next.

When I finally felt the ground beneath my feet again, I found a place to rent — a cozy skyrise downtown. It was way out of my budget, but I made it work. Something beautiful that made it easier to forget the home, and all the things I left behind when I walked away.

Maybe it was the view. Maybe it was the sudden rush of freedom. But not long after moving in, I signed up for a rock climbing membership. I’d never climbed a wall in my life. I was terrified of heights. But something about it called to me — the idea of pulling myself upward, of proving I could hold my own weight. I’d stand at the bottom, palms sweaty, knees a little shaky, and then… up I’d go. Every reach, every slip, every fall and retry — it was me, learning to trust myself again.

And when I wasn’t climbing, I was home — barefoot in the living room, dancing with a glass of wine while my dogs howled at my terrible singing. It was ridiculous. It was peaceful. It was mine.

But here’s the truth — nothing was lonelier than the relationship I had been convincing myself was enough. Being alone wasn’t the scary part. The scary part was realizing how much of myself I had been missing while I was with someone else.

My dogs became the absolute center of my world. They weren’t just pets; they were my emotional support system, my therapists, my reason to get out of bed. They got me through the roughest parts and reminded me daily that I was still loved — fiercely and unconditionally.

I took myself on dates. Bought myself flowers. Splurged on things that made no sense but made me happy. I read books I had abandoned. I meditated. I got back into shape — not for a man, not for approval, but because I wanted to feel strong in my own body again.

I redefined joy.

And yes, I stayed in touch with him for a while. I still checked in. Still clung to the familiarity. But as I grew, I stopped needing those ties. And just like always — when I stopped reaching out, so did he.

That, too, was confirmation.

I wasn’t missing out. I was moving on.

My space kept evolving as I did.

I bought a home as soon as I could, because I deserved something that was all mine. And thanks to the best realtor I know — my mom — I found the perfect place to call home. She believed in me before I even believed in myself, and with her help, I turned the page on an entirely new chapter.

Every choice I made, every item I brought into my home, every day I spent with my dogs by my side — it was a reclaiming. Of my time. My voice. My style. My needs.

And in the middle of all that?

I met someone.

A friend. Someone who made me laugh, who saw me without asking me to shrink. Who respected my process and let the connection grow in its own time. No pressure. No rushing. Just… something sweet and grounding. But that’s a story for another day.

Because this part?

This is about me.

I didn’t just leave a relationship.

I left behind the version of me who didn’t know her worth.

I walked out of survival mode and into self-celebration.

I didn’t just move on — I came back to myself.

Now I’m standing in the sunlight of a life I chose.

Independent. Expanding. Fearless in my dreams.

Loving with my whole heart — starting with myself.

I’ve built a life that feels like freedom, joy, and home all at once.

This chapter isn’t about heartbreak.

It’s about wholeness.

So if you’re reading this and you’re at your own version of rock bottom —

Take a breath.

It’s not the end.

It’s the beginning.

And baby, the climb is worth it.