Succubus, black widow, slut, bitch: when we hear these choice terms, many of us immediately think of Angelina (#TeamJen) or that boyfriend-stealing floozy from sophomore year. Never would I think those words could be used to describe me–but they do.
When I decided my fourth serious boyfriend was on his way out of my life, I received some serious backlash. He was yet another guy my family had come to love, and yet another guy whose family had come to love me. As much as I wanted to love this guy who was more than perfect on paper, I just couldn’t. Something was missing, and I couldn’t look past both of our imperfections anymore.
I told my family I was going to end it, and, quite literally, all hell broke loose. We’re talking mental breakdowns halfway through “Keeping up with the Kardashians” and way too many boozy mudslides for a Monday night. My family didn’t blame me for being unhappy, but they said I’m not allowed to introduce any other guys to them until I have a ring on my finger.
The notion of finding a husband truly scares the shit out of me. If all of my relationships fail after eight months, how am I supposed to fathom an entire lifetime with one person?
Seriously considering giving up monogamy altogether, I got my wits together and really thought about my life. A breakup montage came flooding through my mind. First, there was my breakup with my first high school boyfriend. I can still see us sitting on my back porch on that cool, November night when I told him I had been unhappy for a while. He cried to me. It was one of the first times I had ever seen a guy cry. He begged. He pleaded. But I knew it would never work and that it was unfair to both of us to try to force something that would never happen.
I thought back to calling my first long distance boyfriend and telling him I couldn’t do it anymore. I could hear him stifling sobs. Friends from home told me he nearly went off the deep end, turning to drugs and alcohol to numb the apparent pain I had caused him. I predicted how my then boyfriend would take it. Would he cry? Would he hook up with my friends? Would he be angry or sad, or would he accept it? I’m not at all saying I’m some Helen of Troy who can walk into a party and immediately garner the attention of every man. In my mind I’m pretty average. I’m not at all worth the heartbreak I cause men. But to him, I’m the first girl he opened up to, the first girl he loved, the first girl he introduced to his parents.
I thought to myself, “Can I do this? Can I break another heart? Can I end another relationship? Am I bored or am I really unhappy? Can I make it work?”
I had internally debated it a thousand times and I knew I wasn’t going to end up with him. I knew our relationship had about as much potential as Kim and Kris’s did, so I bucked up and started thinking how I would bring up the subject. I immediately started crying, just like I do each time I end a relationship. To be frank, it SUCKS. Anyone with a heart can’t stand seeing someone they care for in pain. I’m not a monster. It hurts to see him hurt.
But as a group, women often concentrate so much hatred toward men for breaking our hearts. While I’ve had my fair share of jerks who have hurt me just to inflate their stupid boy egos, not many guys wake up thinking, “What girl can I torture today?”
Maybe we ought to try to understand. Maybe we ought to think again when we drive up to his apartment and park next to his car with two-dozen eggs in hand. Some relationships end over poor circumstances, like cheating or lying, but some end because it just didn’t work. There’s nothing wrong with that.
Next time you’re on the receiving end of a heartbreak, try to realize that it may not be so easy for your ex, either. Wipe away your tears, shake his hand, and thank him for his time. Move onto the next guy lucky enough to be with you or enjoy being single. Whatever you do, keep in mind that spreading rumors about his manhood won’t make you feel any better. He likely doesn’t deserve it anyway.