Untying From Us to Me

There’s a pain in showing up as me—not as us. It’s the kind of pain that no one prepares you for. You think you’re ready for the big things, the changes that are loud, noticeable. But then, it’s the quiet shifts, the small moments, that hit the hardest.

The first time I had to show up to a dinner party alone, I thought I’d be fine. I convinced myself that I was past the worst of it, that I had healed enough to walk into a room full of couples without it cutting through me. But when I got there, something inside me snapped. I froze.

How do you go from showing up as two—always as two—to showing up as one?

It felt impossible. Every smile, every conversation, every time someone mentioned their partner—it hurt. I had to force myself to keep breathing, to keep engaging, but all I wanted was to escape. To disappear back into the version of me that wasn’t alone.

I felt like a puzzle piece that didn’t fit anymore.

And that pain? It wasn’t about my ex. It wasn’t about missing him. It was the realization that I was no longer part of something. I was now just me, and I wasn’t sure how to exist in the world without the "we."

It took me years to accept that I was never going to show up as two people again. And even now, sometimes, it still stings.

But here's what I’ve learned:

• Showing up as one doesn’t mean I’m less.

• It doesn’t mean I’m incomplete.

• It means I’m whole in a new way.

I’ve untied myself from the person I thought I had to be, and I’m learning how to be exactly who I am—just as me.

The journey from “us” to “me” is long and messy, and it doesn’t happen overnight. But it happens. It has to.

And there’s beauty in that. Because at the end of the day, I get to show up for myself now, and that’s more than enough.

With love,
Sam