The honest answer is, I don’t know.
There are relationships I could have stayed in. Three major ones come to mind.
I could have stayed with Martin in my early 20s. He was a wonderful boyfriend, and when I left him, I didn’t even know why. It felt like something stronger than me was deciding that we couldn’t go on. The attraction and chemistry had faded, and I didn’t understand it.
Even now, I can’t point to a clear reason.
If I had stayed with Martin, I’d likely be married with children in Toronto (as he is today). That life would have had good aspects—my best friend lives there, and she has a family—but I now know I don’t like the city, and I don’t think I was ever meant to build my life there. I would never have come to Europe.
In France, there was PJ. I probably could have stayed with him too. We had issues with trust and intimacy—he couldn’t look me in the eyes, and for some reason, I felt disconnected. The attraction and chemistry faded, and again, I didn’t fully understand why.
If I had stayed, we’d likely be living in Thonon with a child (as he is), part of a community of friends I do appreciate. I would have a family, a social circle, and I’d likely still be in the restaurant industry—a career we shared.
There are parts of that life that appeal to me. But mostly, when I imagine it, I feel anxious. Stifled. Like I couldn’t just finish there.
And of course, there’s Ben.
Instead of leaving, I could choose to stay with him. I could choose to build a family, to make it work, to let go of the idea that I need something more than what we had. I can imagine having a child in a year or two, staying here in the valley, surrounded by friends and community.
That’s not a terrible idea. It’s a great one—and very close to what I want.
But it would mean letting go of something I’m not sure I’m ready to give up on—that missing piece.
And at the same time, leaving might mean giving up something I’ll one day wish I hadn’t. Ben is a wonderful partner and a wonderful friend.
I’ve changed a lot over the course of my adult life. A younger version of me had a very different idea of love. I didn’t really know how to build a life with someone. I knew how to commit to people who couldn’t, and I pulled away from people who could. All in all, I wasn’t ready.
Now I know how to build something. I know how to stay. I know I can commit. My capacity for patience, loyalty, and commitment has actually surprised me over the past few years.
I’ve also started to question my patterns. I wonder if I’ve chosen relationships that feel safe—people I’m not fully, deeply drawn to—because the kind of attraction that pulls me strongly also feels destabilising. There’s something in that intensity that makes me lose myself.
This is where my work is now.
Moving toward what I want—and staying within myself while doing it.
Not shrinking. Not guarding. Not disappearing into something more acceptable.
I haven’t figured it all out. That’s why I’m writing this.
So you can see that even someone who has learned emotional regulation, self-worth, clear boundaries, and communication still has deeper layers to work through.
What I do see is this:
I’ve walked away from lives that could have worked—on paper, even in reality—but didn’t feel right.
And now I’m here.
Single at 40.