Issue #65: The ones that got away

It isn’t just a partner you lose when a relationship ends.

Happy belated Valentine’s Day. As I mentioned in a short segment for Sky News yesterday (which you can watch here… ‘Look Mom, I’m on TV!’) as part of a good-natured debate with lovely

Daisy Buchanan

, I have complicated feelings towards this day. I don’t know whom it benefits. It can put undue pressure on otherwise-happy couples (years ago, a friend & I met for a drink on 15 February, and immediately launched into a postmortem of the Valentine’s Day rows we’d each had with our then-partners). Meanwhile, it can make you feel a bit rubbish if you’re single – again, regardless of how you feel about that status day to day.

Sure, I get that it doesn’t have to be so loaded. Some people get the warm fuzzies and want to embrace the Day of Love in its full, heart-themed glory; that’s your prerogative. Others manage to ignore it entirely (if you’ve learnt how to do that, tell me your ways).

Personally, I’ve conceded that I’m far from immune to the marketing messages – because, capitalism. If you, too, struggled yesterday, I want to remind you of what I told myself: i) That life is full of different kinds of love, not just the romantic kind that Valentine’s Day is centred around.

Natasha Lunn

’s Conversations on Love newsletter reminds me of this regularly and ii) It is just one day (one that won’t come back around for another 364… phew!), and not to be used as a barometer to judge your relationship, or lack of one.

p.s. I did notice that Vogue International has had a field day repurposing my old features this week. So, if you’re looking for Past Me’s alternative takes on Valentine’s Day, you can read my ode to Romantic Friendship on Vogue India, and/or my feature on the art of being alone, according to accounts from various Swedish women, on the Vogue Scandinavia website. Now… on with this week’s newsletter!

On the people you lose, when a romantic relationship ends

I was trudging through Hampstead Heath, moments after accidentally baptising my new ASICS running shoes in a muddy bog, when I looked up to see them: Sara & Nathan. Haloed by the afternoon sun, there stood the couple I used to know.

Time has moved on. It’s no longer just the two of them. Now, they’re a gorgeous family of four: girl-baby in a stroller, quiet and pensive in that way that thrillingly foreshadows a bookworm; boy-baby saucer-eyed and excitable, carried by his dad in one of those little papoose slings I find weirdly adorable.

Our conversation lasted only a few minutes. Still, as we parted, I felt a wave of nostalgia. We’d had the sort of middle-of-the-pavement small talk that feels nonetheless abundant. As if there could have been more of it; as if, under different circumstances, we could have sat around a dinner table and talked for hours.

And we used to. Five years ago, I – we – were couple friends. I will never not be glad to see them, recalling the happy memories we shared together.

I remember going for dinner at theirs and feeling touched by the amount of energy Nathan had put into cooking, a whole day’s effort – I think there may have been freshly-baked flatbreads, homemade dips, various varieties of delicious stew. The details are hazy, but the feeling I remember vividly; the warmth of their company, the generosity of their hospitality.

I remember their outdoor summer wedding, on one of those rare 30 degree days in the UK, where the parasols weren’t so much decorative as essential for survival. I remember the interdenominational ceremony, which showed such respect for their respective family backgrounds. I remember meeting their parents and wider friendship circle, dancing below as bride & groom were raised up on chairs.

I remember thinking, I hope this couple is in our lives forever. I liked that we knew them. I liked the idea that they’d influence us; that we might be a little more like them with each passing year, by osmosis. We could holiday together; raise our children to be friends; move to nearby postcodes; trade books & home appliance recommendations; swing! (just kidding on that last point, although who knows what middle-aged parent pals get up to…).

But the friendship wasn’t mine to keep. Nathan was – is – my ex’s close family friend. When we broke up, I lost Sara & Nathan in the divorce (proverbially speaking; my ex and I weren’t married). Years on from that break-up, now that the dust has not only settled but been vacuumed away, I felt momentarily sad all over again. Except, this time, I felt sad about the people I lost when we parted.

It’s commonly discussed, after a break-up, that you grieve the loss of your relationship with your partner. Less so, the mourning of the connections that surrounded you, including the sets of friends you come to share.

We don’t exist in isolation. That’s just as true of couples as it is of individuals. The community we forge in our relationships bolsters our shared identity. Those connections ground us, like the roots of a tree, in our relationships. They’re there to celebrate life’s milestones with. They might even be there at your funeral(s).

There’s a reason wedding ceremonies are conducted in front of dozens, sometimes hundreds, of friends and family; or witnesses at very least. Couples with close ‘couple friendships’ are statistically happier; going out with other couples enhances the romance of your relationship, according to other research. They’re the people we, for better or worse, use as a yardstick (it’s no coincidence that engagements or baby announcements tend to occur at similar times within friendship groups). Our friends are shared touchstones (‘Are we like them? Should we do what they’re doing?’) .

It’s not just friends, of course. It’s family. The in-laws (or would-be in-laws). The surrogate grandparents. Sure, you might not have ever hit it off with your partner’s family (or friends) – which I guess is a nice little silver lining when you break up. But I’ve lost track of the number of friends who’ve shared how much they miss their ex’s family. The family they once felt almost as close to as their own – spending Christmases and summer holidays together – whom, overnight, it became taboo to contact. One friend has happily moved on in a new relationship, but still misses her former stepdaughter through her ex. Another has to restrain herself from texting her ex’s mum on her birthday, even though they broke up years ago.

Forming these shared roots, investing in them, is a significant part of the faith – the hope against statistical hope – it takes to be in a relationship. When you break up, those roots are wrenched out, although you don’t necessarily notice it at the time (because you’re too busy navigating the immediate heartbreak).

Break-ups cause painful aftershocks, not just for the estranged couple, but for their wider circle. There’s no straightforward etiquette. I’ve witnessed examples of individuals remaining part of their ex-partner’s friendship group. That can get messy, making it much harder for the respective parties to move on, or leaving one party vulnerable to hearing unwanted information about their ex. Some are forced to be OK with this tangled mess; say, if they partnered up with someone in their tight-knit university friendship group. In my case, a clean break (he kept his friends; I kept mine) was the most natural way forward, and the lesser evil.

Connections don’t have to last forever to be meaningful; that’s as true platonically as it is romantically. The next time I bump into my former double date partners, as I inevitably will, I’ll think of that friendship in the same way I do my past relationship: I’m so happy it happened.

Reading…

Zadie Smith’s The Fraud, her first historical fiction novel. I’m enjoying it a lot; it feels, oddly, like reading Charles Dickens (it also features Charles Dickens himself as a minor character) through a female lens. Warning: the hardback also weighs the same as a Cocker Spaniel, so if you’re planning to read it on public transport, maybe consider the Kindle edition.

Consuming… 

So. Many. Pancakes, courtesy of a surprisingly-delicious gluten-free pancake mix from Dove’s Farm. Happy Pancake Day/Shrove Tuesday to all who celebrate.

Trying… 

To get back into running, partly in a bid to join a local running club and not crash and burn (Hampstead Heath Park Run, I’m coming for you).

Which brings me to my questions…

i) For those who are part of a running club, do you have any top tips (I don’t know what I don’t know at this point but… I guess, any pointers for feeling part of the pack?)

Also, ii) what do you run to? I used to be quite into running to the No Stupid Questions podcast co-hosted by Grit author Angela Duckworth. However, it definitely keeps me at a plodding pace – so, for faster runs, I’d love to hear what gets you going.

Until next week,

Francesca x