The first time my girlfriend Nicole* and I , I was devastated, confused, and hurt, wondering how Honeymoon Lane had ended in road bumps too big to conquer. The second time was even worse—neither of us could eat, we barely slept, and during our , we cried enough to start a successful tear-selling business on Etsy. (JK—but if we had, I’d be rich.
) We’d been friends for five years before dating, giving more weight to our will-they-won’t-they dilemma than the average pair, so both times, we managed to mend things, refusing to give up on a partnership that felt so full of potential. But as it goes, third time’s a charm. Less than six months in (or ~10 years in Lesbian Time), Nicole and I right into a rut, repeating a sickening loop of back-and-forth triggering, even though all either of us wanted was to make each other happy and keep enjoying our incredible sex.
I’ll do almost anything to keep stellar lovers in my constellation, but when neither love nor climax was enough, I knew it was time to end things. I thought, I’d heard of (a practice common in polyamory—which we were not engaged in—since multiple partners usually means multiple needs for adjustment), but had never personally tried it. The idea is to take a step or two back from your current arrangement, reverting a relationship to a (or to , pen pals.
..whatever works for you), instead of calling it quits entirely.
“In a perfect world,” I told Nicole mid-breakup, “I’d like to stay connected with .