Here’s the thing about breakups — they suck.

Here’s the thing about breakups when you’re middle-aged and in the throws of perimenopause — they suck more.

I was dumped in beautiful Santa Barbara, CA a few weeks ago by a man that I loved with all my heart for a number of years. I should have seen it coming. But truthfully, I didn’t. I had loved him so deeply. I accepted him fully. I loved the parts of him that some people misunderstood. And I was ferociously in love with his qualities that were easy to adore: his great hair, his laugh, his humor, his musical ability, his progressive views, his intellect, his Irish accent, his heart.

We had nicknames for each other. He called me Sharkey. A name that became all mine….and was (and will always be) exclusively reserved for him to use. I miss that. Sharkey’s dead now. And that feels crushing.

We had so many things that were just ours. Our years together were full. We shared so intimately, so openly. We knew each other in ways no one else ever had.  We talked about everything. We laughed constantly. I’ve never laughed that easily or that often with anyone else.  We were a great love. I never saw us ending. We just seemed to get closer. And then he moved far away.

I held on to hope and he seemed to as well, that we would survive the distance. That we’d find ways to see each other every few weeks. And in a few short years, when my precious daughter is off rocking some Ivy league curriculum, he and I would come back together.

But he decided the distance was too much….or I was not enough…or who the hell knows, really.

Lately, I’ve been making a bit of a fool of myself when it comes to him. I did all the things you’re not supposed to do when you’re dumped. You’re not supposed to send him texts, or emails. But I did both…a few times. (Big sigh) I was never mean…how could I be? But I was a little pathetic. I was holding on desperately. I was bargaining…trying to salvage our relationship — a relationship that he had ended long before he told me so.

Love can make us do foolish things. I forgive myself for being pathetic.

I woke up this morning and made a deal with myself. And that deal is this: YOU WILL LET THIS GO NOW.

Which, of course, for me means writing out my feelings, sharing them with my small universe of friends on social media, and reveling in the catharsis that will immediately ensue. *she says to herself half-convincingly*

I’ve always healed best by sharing, by putting my feelings out there and then letting it go. Not everyone has the skin for that, but it’s definitely how I roll.

We only have so many trips around the sun. There will one day come an end to all this glorious living. So why sit around wasting precious time hurting over a man that doesn’t think I’m enough.

So…enough.

I love life…I love joy…I love fun and adventure and sunshine and a light drizzle during a long run. I love thunderstorms and crashing waves on a quiet beach.  I love great coffee, and milk chocolate. I love a great glass of chardonnay on a summer afternoon and a great red on a cold winter’s night. I love dogs and babies and Dwayne Johnson’s pecks. I love make out sessions with a cute, kind, intelligent boy. I love a lot of things. And on those things I will focus.

So, I’m letting go of him and the dreams that will never be. It hurts to write that. I won’t lie.  It’s a pain deep in my core that may take many months to completely heal. God I hope it doesn’t take that long. In the meantime, I’m going to get out there and feel the sun, see the waves, feel the joy wherever it meets me…and trust that each day will be a better day.

Because life is worth living fully. And I am worth loving unwaveringly. So, I am going to do just that. I may not have been enough for him. But I am enough for me.