Back in 2022, I got into a very long-distance relationship between Paris (the French one) and Boston (the American one).
For about 18 months, we staggered along despite the thousands of miles between us.
From the start, he seemed convinced that I needed to move to America if I wanted us to have a future. Despite my doubts, I began to consider relocating. I’d fallen for Boston, I live for adventure, and if I hated it, I could just… leave?
By this point, the cracks were seriously showing, but we agreed I’d come to America for the summer, as a sort of trial run.
We never got that far.
Although we’d both questioned the future of our relationship, I was still stunned when he broke up with me a month before I was due to fly to the US.
The flights were nonrefundable, and I love a solo trip, but I couldn’t decide whether going it alone this time would be cathartic or catastrophic.
I have family and friends in the US, though, and my flight was to San Diego, where one of my best friends lives, so I decided to go for it.
Deep down, I hoped that maybe this experience would be more empowering than sad.
Admittedly, the post-breakup trip had highs and lows
I went from San Diego to San Francisco to Portland, enjoying several weeks with some of my favorite people, and it was the best tonic I could have hoped for.
I was probably boring company at times; I spent many hours going over the countless reasons the relationship was never meant to last. But my nearest and dearest listened to me, and laughed with me, and took me on all kinds of adventures to the most gorgeous corners of California and Oregon.
It’s pretty hard to be sad when you’re having that much fun with people you love.
The trickier part of the trip came toward the end, when I’d planned to spend a week in Boston. My first challenge was logistical: I now had nowhere to stay in one of America’s most expensive cities, and, as usual, my travel budget was basically nonexistent.
So I put out a candid appeal on a Facebook group for female travelers, sharing about my breakup and offering to later host someone in Paris in return for them hosting me in Boston.
I got several incredibly kind responses and eventually connected with a single mom who generously let me stay with me for several nights.
In the end, I’d been able to make the best of a strange situation
Accommodation crisis averted, I set about exploring every nook and cranny of Boston. I hung out with lovely people, saw a lot of beautiful sights, and ate incredible food — including a Boston-cream doughnut I still think about.
However, I wasn’t prepared for how strange it would feel to spend day after day traipsing alone around the city I’d imagined building a life in.
I also made the mistake of going to see a ludicrously emotional Pixar movie and nearly had to walk out because I was sobbing so hard.
I only wanted the popcorn, for crying out loud. (That liquid-y “butter” on tap might be America’s greatest invention.)
I’d like to say “Inside Out 2” was the peak of the emotional turbulence, but that came in the form of a dinner with my ex, right before my return to Paris.
It was pretty nerve-racking, and I hardly touched my food, but it was exactly the closure I’d dubiously hoped for.
I was still working through the blow to my ego, and the indignation of the way everything had unfolded, but sitting across the table from this man I’d shed all those tears over, it was glaringly, gloriously obvious to me that the breakup had been the best call for us both.
Ultimately, when it comes to going solo on a trip you’d planned with an ex, I would advise approaching with caution.
It wasn’t always easy; emotions ran high. But it was, overall, an incredible experience — more deeply healing than I could have hoped. And yes … a pretty damn empowering one, too.
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