Breaking up with my ex-fiancé was painful, but nothing prepared me for the heartbreak of ending a situationship with the Bachelor. Unlike a traditional breakup, this one was filled with doubt and confusion, as I mourned the idea of a potential relationship more than the relationship itself. The few happy memories we shared felt insignificant compared to the suffering and the blows to my dignity. The hardest part, however, was questioning my sanity—wondering if I had been delusional, if it was all just a few fun dates, and if I had imagined everything.
During my healing journey, I was fortunate to have the support of my loving family and the guidance of a therapist. I also realized that to truly heal, I needed to clear out the negativity in my life. This meant cutting ties with toxic friends and leaving a highly toxic work environment. It took time to understand that this “breakup” was interconnected with other areas of my life, and to heal properly, I had to prepare the field. Toxic friends only added to the negativity, and my once cherished career had become the source of my daily depression.
Despite working out regularly, I was gaining weight rapidly, and I was overwhelmed with sadness, anger, and frustration. It had to stop. In the midst of my misery, I added more stress by trying to help someone else going through a breakup. My empathy often takes me to wild places, but this time it led to exhaustion. Our situations were different, and her constant messaging only triggered my own issues. After three months, it became clear that I couldn’t handle her problems on top of my own.
In a moment of weakness, I broke the no-contact rule with the Bachelor, only to be met with silence. No one had prepared me for the silent treatment, a punishment style that felt like emotional abuse. His ghosting, after we had ended things amicably and planned to meet one last time, was inexplicable and drove me to question everything. When he finally responded, it was to deny our entire relationship, reducing it to a few fun dates. This gaslighting made me question my reality, but fortunately, my journals from that period provided the proof I needed. They reminded me that I wasn’t imagining things and that he had been the one coming back, not just me.
Realizing I was dealing with someone emotionally damaging, I decided to end it for good. I mailed him his things, let go of the anger, and wished him a genuine happy birthday as a final gesture of closure.
Over the next two months, I focused on myself—working out, eating well, sleeping better, meditating, and connecting with nature. I avoided dating and sex, embracing a detox period that felt amazing. I shed the emotional weight I had gained during seven months of depression and began to focus on my dreams, moving closer to achieving them.
Do I still miss him? No. Sometimes, I miss the idea of us, but not him as a person. I see things clearly now, without making excuses for his behavior. How could I miss a man who only cared about his needs? A man who lacked the decency to offer me a drink when I visited him at his place—who would casually crack open a beer for himself and only after a sip, remember to offer me the same, knowing full well that I don’t even drink beer. How could I miss someone who never bothered to make me feel welcome, like the time I brought breakfast over and he didn’t even offer milk for the coffee? Or the countless times he would serve himself first, leaving me to fend for myself, even when I had cooked dinner for both of us.
His disregard extended beyond just these small courtesies. He wouldn’t even walk me to my car after a late-night visit to his place, leaving me to navigate the dark streets alone. Basic manners and the concept of being a gentleman seemed utterly lost on him. Looking back, these little things should have been glaring red flags, but I was too blinded by my emotions to see them clearly.
Now, I feel happier, lighter, and more determined than ever to never fall for a man like him again. This is officially the end of me and the Bachelor. It’s my happy ending 😊.
