I Don’t Miss Him. I Miss the Eight Years I Wasted.

I didn’t need closure.
I needed to stop renewing the subscription.

 

The One Relationship I Actually Regret

I don’t regret most of my past relationships.

Some were good. Some were ridiculous. Some ended badly. One even ended with me kicking the guy, running away, and somehow becoming his friend years later.

Life is strange.

But there is one relationship I regret.

Not because we broke up.

Not because I secretly want him back.

And definitely not because I’m sitting by a window wondering what our life could have been.

Absolutely not.

I regret the relationship because it lasted eight years.

Eight.

Years.

That is a college degree, professional experience, and a small emotional prison sentence.

I don’t miss him.

I miss the time I spent convincing myself the relationship might eventually become something it had repeatedly demonstrated it was not.

It Started Like a Romantic Story

We started as childhood crushes.

That sounds sweet.

Two people liked each other when they were young, lost contact, and then met again later. Naturally, we decided to try having a relationship.

At first, I thought he might be the one.

Of course I did.

The beginning of a relationship is basically a promotional advertisement. Everyone is presenting the best available version of themselves.

You see chemistry.

You see shared memories.

You see potential.

You don’t yet see the drunken puking, unauthorized borrowing, financial irritation, and competitive nonsense waiting patiently in future episodes.

Our story felt special because of our history.

We had known each other when we were younger. Reconnecting made the relationship feel almost destined.

But sometimes destiny is just nostalgia wearing expensive perfume.

Then I Started Actually Knowing Him

The longer we stayed together, the more I got to know him.

That is normally supposed to be a good thing.

In my case, increased information did not improve the product.

I began noticing habits and behaviors I didn’t like. Not tiny annoyances such as chewing loudly or leaving socks on the floor.

I mean things that slowly changed how I saw him.

He borrowed money from me—a lot.

He seemed to think that if I had money available, then it was available to him.

Did I need that money?

Apparently, that question never made it onto his application.

It didn’t seem to occur to him that I also had needs, plans, responsibilities, and a life requiring money.

To him, my wallet appeared to be a community resource.

My Money Was Apparently Our Money

Helping your partner occasionally is normal.

Life happens. People struggle. Couples support each other.

But there is a difference between helping someone through a difficult moment and becoming their personal loan department.

When one person constantly borrows without considering how it affects the other, it stops feeling like support.

It starts feeling like entitlement.

I wanted a partner—not a recurring withdrawal.

Every time he borrowed money, I probably hoped it would be the last time.

Then another need appeared.

Another reason.

Another promise.

Another situation where his problem somehow needed to become my expense.

Eventually, you stop asking whether the money will return.

You start wondering whether your common sense will.

Why Was I His Competition?

A relationship is supposed to involve two people working together.

He sometimes acted as though we were competing.

I don’t know what prize he believed we were fighting for.

Most Stressful Relationship?

Best Performance in Unnecessary Insecurity?

Lifetime Achievement in Turning Your Girlfriend Into an Opponent?

Instead of feeling like we were building something together, I sometimes felt like he compared himself to me.

Your partner should not resent your progress, compete with your accomplishments, or behave as if your success somehow reduces theirs.

There is room for both people to do well.

This is a relationship, not a game show.

I didn’t want to defeat him.

I wanted him to stop acting like I was standing between him and an imaginary trophy.

Borrowing Apparently Included My Belongings

Money wasn’t the only thing he borrowed.

He also borrowed my belongings and sometimes took things without asking.

That is not borrowing.

Borrowing requires permission.

Without permission, it is simply theft wearing a relationship label.

Being someone’s girlfriend does not mean everything I own automatically becomes available through an invisible shared-library system.

Ask.

It is one word.

Very efficient.

But apparently, taking first and explaining later was easier.

Every incident may have seemed small by itself. Together, they created a clear message:

His wants mattered immediately.

My boundaries could wait.

Drinking Turned Him Into a Public Emergency

Then there was the drinking.

When he drank, he embarrassed me.

He didn’t know what he was doing. He would lose control and puke everywhere.

Nothing strengthens romance like watching a grown man turn a social gathering into a hazardous-cleanup assignment.

I was embarrassed, frustrated, and tired of dealing with it.

Drinking didn’t create every problem in our relationship, but it gave the existing problems a microphone and invited them onto the stage.

He might forget what happened.

I didn’t.

That is one of the most exhausting parts of being around someone who repeatedly loses control. They wake up with missing memories while you wake up carrying all of them.

I Kept Trying to Save It

I broke up with him a few times.

Then we got back together.

Then the same problems continued.

Then I tried again.

That pattern can last much longer than people expect.

You don’t stay because every day is good. You stay because some days are good enough to make you question whether leaving is necessary.

You remember the beginning.

You think about the time already invested.

You hope the person will mature.

You convince yourself that eight years together must mean something important.

It did mean something.

It meant I had become extremely experienced at extending a relationship past its expiration date.

The Eight-Year Investment Trap

The longer a relationship lasts, the harder it becomes to leave.

You think:

“We’ve already been together for so long.”

But time already spent is not proof that more time should be spent.

If you waited eight hours for a bus that never arrived, would you say:

“I should probably wait another eight. I’ve already invested so much.”

No.

At some point, you accept that the damn bus is not coming.

But relationships are emotional. You’re not only leaving a person. You’re leaving routines, memories, plans, and the version of the future you once imagined.

Starting over feels terrifying.

So you stay with the familiar disappointment because unfamiliar freedom feels risky.

Then He Went Away—and Ended It

Eventually, he moved somewhere else for work.

Then he broke up with me.

He denied that another woman was involved.

Later, I heard there was another woman.

Of course.

Apparently, the relationship had reached its final chapter, and he decided to include one last unnecessary plot twist.

I was hurt.

I said many things to him. Some were probably reasonable. Others were likely selected directly from the emergency section of my vocabulary.

Eight years of frustration finally had an exit.

It was not quiet.

He Wanted to Meet for “Closure”

Later, he wanted to meet.

Maybe he wanted to explain.

Maybe he wanted closure.

Maybe he wanted to feel better about how everything ended.

I wasn’t interested.

People love talking about closure as if every failed relationship requires a final meeting, dramatic eye contact, and a carefully prepared explanation.

Sometimes the explanation is already inside the behavior.

He borrowed money without considering me.

He treated me like competition.

He took things without permission.

He embarrassed me when he drank.

We broke up repeatedly.

Then he left and apparently found someone else.

What additional information was going to improve this story?

Did we need a PowerPoint presentation?

No.

The book was finished.

I didn’t need an author interview.

Close it and move on.

Even the Final Payment Was Incomplete

Of course, after we broke up, I still needed him to repay the money he owed me.

The relationship may have ended, but apparently, the outstanding balance wanted to remain emotionally attached.

He did eventually pay me.

Well—most of it.

His payment was short.

It wasn’t a huge amount, but that wasn’t the point. If you owe someone money and finally decide to repay it, why would you not pay the complete amount?

You already had eight years to irritate me. Did the final payment really need to contain one last sample?

Maybe he thought:

“It’s only a small amount. She probably won’t care.”

I cared.

Not because the missing amount would destroy my finances, but because paying someone back in full is the bare minimum. The debt doesn’t become complete simply because you got tired of counting.

Imagine owing someone $100, handing them $93, and walking away like the account has achieved spiritual closure.

What happened to the other seven dollars?

Did it need a fresh start too?

If you borrow money, repay the entire amount. Not approximately. Not whatever number feels emotionally correct. All of it.

A debt is not a restaurant bill. You don’t get to remove part of the payment because you were dissatisfied with the relationship.

But by then, I was tired.

The missing amount was small, and continuing to contact him over it would have cost me more peace than the money was worth.

So I treated it as a final service charge for removing him from my life.

Was it fair?

No.

Was it worth reopening communication?

Also no.

Apparently, even his repayment needed me to accept less than I was owed.

Very consistent character development.

Staying Too Long Is Its Own Kind of Regret

I recently wrote about being scared to leave a familiar job even though I knew I didn’t want to stay there forever. You can read that story in I Was Scared to Change Jobs. I Was More Scared of Staying Stuck.

Relationships can create the same trap.

You know the situation isn’t right.

You know you’ve outgrown it.

But leaving means starting over, and starting over is scary.

So you remain in something that no longer works because at least you understand exactly how it disappoints you.

Whether it’s a job or a relationship, familiarity does not automatically mean safety.

Sometimes familiar is just stuck with furniture.

Why Do I Still Hate Him?

I still hate him.

Not because I’m secretly in love with him.

People love that stupid theory.

“If you still hate him, you must still have feelings.”

Yes. The feeling is hatred.

Emotions do not automatically transform into romance simply because they remain strong.

Maybe I hate him because of how he treated me.

Maybe I hate him because I remember how much I tolerated.

Maybe part of that anger is actually directed at my younger self for staying.

That is probably the hardest part.

Sometimes you’re not only angry at the person who wasted your time.

You’re angry because you kept giving it to them.

And yes, occasionally I think he could still benefit from a punch in the face.

Metaphorically, of course.

Life can punch him.

I’m busy.

The Actual Lesson

The relationship wasn’t completely meaningless.

It taught me what I don’t want.

It taught me that history and chemistry are not enough.

It taught me that love does not require becoming someone’s wallet, parent, cleanup crew, or emotional opponent.

It taught me that breaking up repeatedly is not evidence of a passionate relationship.

Sometimes it is evidence that the relationship keeps failing the same test.

Most importantly, it taught me not to confuse time invested with a reason to stay.

Eight years is a long time.

Nine would have been longer.

Final Verdict

I don’t regret that we broke up.

That was the correct ending.

I regret how long it took to reach it.

I wish I had paid attention sooner—to the borrowing, the competition, the missing respect, the drinking, and the boundaries he treated as optional.

But I cannot recover those eight years by continuing to spend emotional energy on him.

The time is gone.

The lesson remains.

Maybe that is the only closure I need.

He wanted a final meeting.

I wanted the relationship to remain finished.

For once, I chose the option that required less wasted time.

B.S. or Truth?

Have you ever regretted a relationship—not because it ended, but because you stayed too long?

What finally made you realize it was over?

Tell me in the comments.

And if your ex asks for closure after providing eight years of evidence, remember:

You are allowed to close the book without attending the discussion group.

Bullshit? Maybe. Truth? Unfortunately.