On one faithful Wednesday night/early Thursday morning, not so long ago, I received a phone call from my girlfriend, who informed me that she no longer saw us together. After nearly four years of being considered someone’s girlfriend, I sat alone in my bedroom, talking to a digitized version of my now-ex-girlfriend on my phone screen, officially no one’s. I spent a long while in my bed, soaking my pillowcase. Eventually, I picked up my phone at 5:00 am, set my alarms for 8:00 am, and tried my best to ignore the drunk spin I was experiencing while trying to sleep.
I pulled myself out of bed and got ready for my usual Thursday routine. I iced my golf ball-sized eyeballs and, by 9:15 am, sat in my first of five classes that day, spanning from 9:30 am to 6:00 pm. I went to every single one.
I began to wonder: Was I doing a breakup wrong?
Later that same day, I mustered my last shreds of courage to inform my circle of friends about my brand-new relationship status. They all had the same progression of statements: “What?!,” “I’m sorry, Jo,” and “Didn’t you go to class today?!” Amidst the confusion about my relationship status, almost everyone in my immediate circle was puzzled by the state that they found me in. They all felt I should be cuddled in my bed, watching The Notebook and, nursing a pint of butter pecan ice cream, not still dressed from my full day of classes.
As I gathered more and more reactions of bewilderment to my post-breakup state, I began to wonder: Was I doing a breakup wrong?
Obviously, I turned to consult my religious texts (90s and 2000s rom-coms) on what I should look like post-breakup, and sure enough, all my sources pointed to the same thing. Rather than sitting in New Cabell for my English class, I should’ve been either decomposing in bed or at the club with my friends.
So consider my story your official guide for how (not?) to do a breakup wrong.
My so-far less-than-traditional reaction to being dumped, I feel, makes me qualified to say I know exactly how not to do a breakup. If you too find yourself in a newly single position, utterly ostracized and misaligned with the apparent breakup handbook of the collective social consciousness, I may be able to provide some guidance. So consider my story your official guide for how (not?) to do a breakup wrong.
IGNORE YOUR FEELINGS (and select mascara wisely)
Feeling out all of my emotions in bed was at the bottom of my list of things I wanted to do; instead, I did what I do best: ignore them. I ignored how congested I was from crying all night. I ignored the fear of being single for the first time since I was sixteen. I ignored the feeling of embarrassment I got from being dumped (I mean, seriously, who wouldn’t want to keep dating a catch like me). I was resigned — or maybe inspired — to go to each and every one of my Thursday classes. Whether it was out of persistence or spite, I am not entirely sure, but either way, I felt the best way to deal with my emotions was to avoid confronting them. As I got ready, I strategically swiped on a layer of mascara, knowing full well I don’t own any of the waterproof variety, a technique I implemented to prevent myself from crying (obviously, I couldn’t risk my mascara running). With all my emotions sufficiently repressed and my mascara safety guard in place, I was empowered to take on the day.
DREAM OF MINIONLAND = HAPPY HAPPY HAPPY (ish)
I powered on my headphones and got ready to walk out the door. I opened my Spotify and scrolled past my collection of George Michael and Jeff Buckley songs that had been on my current rotation and searched for the only music appropriate for such emotionally tumultuous times as these: the soundtracks for every Minion and Despicable Me franchise movie. I strutted to class to the beat of Pharrell Williams’ “Fun, Fun, Fun,” ready to take on the day, and began to start the narrative of my favorite daydream: a trip to Universal Studios Minion Land. As I walked to and from classes, I imagined myself doing a variety of Minion Land activities: buying a pink fluffy unicorn, riding the Despicable Me Minion Mayhem ride, and grabbing a bite at the Minion Café. I only paused my daydream during lectures, where I shifted my attention to my classes. For the next couple of hours, I sat in my back-to-back classes more engaged than I have ever been before, refusing myself even one small moment of disengagement.
DO HOMEWORK (in the apartment, all alone)
Feeling accomplished that I only let a couple of tears drop throughout the day, I walked home to an empty apartment. Knowing I would be alone for a couple of hours I tried to keep busy, doing any and every reading I could do for my classes. My efforts were, however, in vain; the Hoover Dam I had been holding behind my eyes began to burst, and within minutes my entire face was coated in a layer of moisture.
REALIZE THAT WRONG CAN MAYBE BECOME RIGHT
My roommates came home, and the tears remained in abundance. Feeling at a loss for what to do, they sat me down on the couch in front of the TV, playing my favorite Hulu show, Adults. After an entire season’s worth of tears and back rubs, I felt like a new woman.
I haven’t had a complete breakdown since that night, and I haven’t sacrificed any part of my usual routine. While I’ve had momentary lapses in coolness and collectedness where I’ve felt the sudden urge to send a risky or mean text message, I think I’ve been taking it pretty well.
As evil and maybe cold-hearted as I may come off, nearly three weeks post-breakup, I feel a perhaps uncharacteristic (for me) air of nonchalance towards the situation. By way of my egregious reactions, I settled on a breakup philosophy: It’s a disservice to myself to dwell on people who do not want me. And sure, maybe I could’ve come to that conclusion while wrapped underneath my bed covers wearing a full sweatsuit, but I’m grateful my diversion of social norms was one that allowed me to stay on track with my classes.
