I had already started the paperwork to move to Spain with my girlfriend when she told me she wanted to break up. Now the papers I still want to finish are the ones that will let our dog go with her.
We’re both 25. She already earns six figures, and I’m only now about to graduate. I’ve struggled through two courses, with my parents supporting me the whole way. We’re the same age, but looking at what we each have to show for it makes me feel years behind.
For a year, we lived together in her condo with a dog and two cats. The first cat was mine. The dog was hers. The second cat was a birthday present she bought for me. Those details matter to me because this wasn’t only a relationship I hoped might become a shared life. We already had one, with all these small attachments that don’t disappear because the plans change.
Spain was supposed to be the next part. She’s moving there on a digital nomad visa, and the plan was for me to come as her dependent, along with the pets. We knew it would cost a lot. I had begun getting my documents ready because, until this happened, I thought we were preparing for the same future.
My insecurity about school and money didn’t start with the breakup. I’ve carried it for a long time. But she never used my failures against me or got angry with me about them. I remember our relationship as healthy, which makes it hard to find somewhere to put the hurt. I can’t point to cruelty and tell myself I’m better off without her.
I cooked for her and took care of her. While I was studying, I traveled eight hours each way to see her. I don’t regret those trips. They were how I could show up for someone I loved, with the time and effort I had available. I just wanted that to count for more than it apparently could.
When she said she wanted to break up, she told me she couldn’t picture a future in which I was stable. My life is only starting, and she’s already ready for the next step. I believe I could get there financially, but I can’t give her a date when it will happen. Cooking dinner and making a long journey don’t answer the question of how we would pay for a life abroad.
We’ve started a two-month break. I respect her decision, although respecting it hasn’t made it hurt less. I keep calling myself a failure, as if that one word can explain school, money and losing her. She didn’t give me that label. It’s the one I’m putting on myself while I’m still crying over someone I thought was my other half.
I’m not angry with her. I still think she’s the best person I know. For now, there’s one part of the old plan I can help carry through: getting the dog’s papers finished so she can take the dog to Spain.
