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 you—maybe as friends...
” the tears caught in my throat. “..
.with benefits?” She finished my thought, melting my heart and bringing a smile to my face. She was down to downgrade, and DTF! After hours of tearful discussion going through what went wrong in our relationship and why, we discovered that neither of us actually had the for a full-on partnership.
We’d rushed up the steps of the (you know, the one society insists on that leads to marriage, kids, the works), and with simultaneous, difficult life events happening on both our ends, we’d hit our personal limits, feeling overcommitted and under-resourced on time, energy, and, dare I say it, sanity. (You try being a supportive partner while your dad gets diagnosed with a super-rare stage four cancer, both your apartments develop frustrating issues, both your cars wind up in the shop!) But since there were no egregious offenses, and a long history of platonic friendship with plenty of love left, we decided to try a miniature version of “us” on for size. I won’t sugar coat it: People have strong (often negative) views about this sort of “downgrading”.
I once had a therapist (albeit a not-very-good one) tell me relationship de-escalation was actually idealistic thinking. And you’ve probably had at least one friend tell you not to because and . Indeed, breakups are culturally touted as a be-all-end-all you can never come back from—the fodder that’s made T.
Swift her billions and paints a Lana Del Rey-esque landscape in the bedrooms of countless brooding, broken hearts. But the truth is, labels are . Which means that if there's trust between you, everyone involved has , you can work past the societal pressure to conform to the norm, and find common ground through the sometimes painful emotions of untangling yourselves (hearing about your ex’s new lovers isn’t always easy—even for a like me!), it is wholly possible ( , but possible) to hop off the escalator, change lanes, and switch to the downward track.
In the months following what Nicole and I now lovingly call our “transition”, we’ve become better versions of ourselves both individually and together. We did the real separating first, giving each others’ stuff back and for a bit. When we picked things up as fuck buddies, I found we were more there for one another than before, probably because Without the pressure of partnership looming over us, we’ve been able to cherish each encounter like it’s our last, and even though that possibility is and was always there, without any official attachment, it feels more real.
It feels real that I could lose her because I already have. I lost the part of her that guaranteed I wouldn’t go to sleep cuddle-less each night. The part that brought me not one, but two bags of peanut butter M&Ms for the popcorn on movie night.
The part that answered my calls no matter what, and peeped my location now and then just to make sure I was safe. The part that made me proud to introduce her as “my girlfriend”. But what I didn’t lose is way more important.
I didn’t lose the caring connection only two people who’ve fallen in love can share—the connection that so often gets tossed in the trash instead of the recycling, even when the love has not expired. I didn’t lose the memories of nearly peeing my pants laughing, or running around the LA County Fair like a couple of kids, because I don’t have to be the only keeper of those—she’s still holding them with me. Since we’re staying bonded, I get to celebrate all that came before with the very person who co-created it, unveiling the mystery of whatever happens next together, in the gray zone that life is all about.
And the best part? In fact, since splitting, the sex (and intimacy) has gotten even better. Wouldn’t you know it: taking on each others’ problems really ! Now I get to brush her hair behind her ear, salivating over how hot she is, without feeling responsible for her daily stresses. Now I get to corner her at the bar, grazing the inside of her thigh, and feel like I’ve sacrificed my precious alone time, instead choosing to share myself in select, worthwhile tidbits.
Now I get to just be with her— be with her—like how it was early on, both of us putting our best flirt forward in an effort to win the girl. Now we get to just have . Years ago, when I was going through another breakup, a friend reassured me that sometimes it can work out (that time it didn’t, but still)—that sometimes you can find your way back together in a new dynamic.
He and his wife had broken up more than a dozen times in the past, but ended up happily married with a wonderful daughter in the long run. Each time they got back together, they’d grown into new versions of themselves that worked better as a pair. And why not? We rebound anyways, dating new people like it’s NBD—so why can’t you date the new version of an old love, as the new you? Better yet, why can’t you stay friends and fuck as the in-between versions of yourselves along the way, as caring travel buddies through this crazy commute we call life? I won’t claim to have it all figured out, and reverting to friends with benefits has had its messy, rollercoaster moments—including getting back together for a grand total of 24 hours one time.
(Whew.) But there’s certainly something to be said for you’ve got—labels be damned, benchmarks to hell, arms and hearts open to the possibility that the end is never really the end. At least, it doesn’t have to be.
GG Sauvage is a writer and all-around artist on a mission to f*ck shame away and empower people with self-love. She designed , co-hosts the podcast, and wrote the audio drama . See her work at Refinery29, Vogue Italia, Vulture, CollegeHumor, and WhoHaHa, and check out for more!.
