In 2015, my already former partner and I decided to work out our differences by sitting down on a couch in a rural town in Colorado for a weeklong breakup therapy session. Getting to the therapist’s couch was not an easy decision. The breakup itself lasted for probably six months, and the couch was the last step to try to end a once loving relationship with at least a semblance of that love.
Jared and I met when I was staring through the rose-colored lenses of my early 20s. In the romantic fashion of a naive, 22-year-old, recent college grad, who had no true concept of the world and whose heart had recently been broken, I fell in love with a 30-year-old man who looked to me like he had all the answers in the world. Jared and I met at the Burning Man festival (cliche I know), we danced endless nights together, and whether it was the MDMA or the youthful belief in soul mates ― or our true love for each other ― I will honestly never know, but we fell in love.