Step 1. Ignore the people who say it takes half the time you dated to move on. They probably learned this from Charlotte York. Newsflash, Charlotte and Sex and the City aren’t real. Your grief is. Accept that it will ebb and flow for five-and-a-half years, almost the same length of time you dated. I promise, that’s OKAY. Save yourself the anger, anguish, and self-doubt in year three by ignoring this advice from the start.

On the day of my best friend’s funeral, I received a friendly text from a colleague asking how I was enjoying my summer. Not knowing I was in despair, I did not want to distress them. So, I replied with a number of clichéd nautical terms. I felt like a ship without an anchor. I was lost at sea, set adrift. This proximity to water, without the sight of land, creates disorientation and resignation. My early grief came with a strange apathy born from a newfound loneliness and struggle. Will power and the habit of duty kept me tethered to the deck. I hoped I was not at risk of falling overboard. I am not a strong swimmer.

Kids have a way of helping you see things clearly. Maybe because they consume so much of your time and energy until all that remains are the essentials? I don’t know how it works, but I know that shortly after the birth of my son, my old dream of becoming a writer suddenly became important to me.

If you met me now, you probably wouldn’t think I was the sort of girl who allowed boys to walk over her and treat her like shit. You might not even think I was the sort of girl who liked boys. With cropped hair and flannel shirts, I’ve done all I can to deter men from taking an interest. But a few years ago, when my hair was long and curly and my self-esteem was pretty much at rock bottom, I let a series of men trample over my self-worth.

I’m using the names we picked for ourselves in French class all those years ago because technically I’m not even supposed to think about you. It’s been nearly two decades after all, and I’m supposed to have grown up, moved on, and all that jazz. Well. I am married – happily, I promise. But I can’t deny what our few years together meant, and I’m only recently realizing I don’t think I ever told you how much.