Split was mutual but now I’m in bits and missing him
Dear Coleen
I’m a divorced mum of two and for the past year I’ve been dating a man who is also divorced with children.
The start of our relationship was fantastic – I don’t think either of us could believe our luck that we’d found one another. However, maintaining things became hard work and we broke up a couple of weeks ago.
We both have busy lives – my kids live with me most of the time and he’s always in the middle of some drama with his ex and their children.
When you factor full-time jobs into that, there just didn’t seem any time for us and our relationship.
It just never got going the way we hoped it would.
I was OK about the split at first, as it was a mutual decision and we parted on good terms, but now I’m in pieces and really miss him and his children.
I don’t know whether to contact him and suggest making another go of it or if I should just let it go.
I didn’t think I’d miss him this much and wonder if we gave in too easily. I’d love some sensible advice.
First of all, it’s only been a couple of weeks and of course you’re going to miss him – that’s normal, even when it was right to end a relationship.
So, it would probably be a good idea to give yourself some more time to see if you still feel the same in a few weeks.
You’re saying life got in the way of the relationship, but I wonder if enthusiasm and commitment was really there from both of you.
If you’d been determined to make this relationship work and were really passionate about one another, you could have pulled out the stops to fit your lives around the relationship.
You could have made a commitment to put yourselves first at least some of the time. I think it’s too easy to blame kids and work – we all have those things to juggle, but if you’re really invested in each other you find a way to make it work.
Perhaps you’ll both realise that you want to try again and commit to putting in more effort, but keep in mind that it shouldn’t feel like hard work if you love each other.
Maybe the best thing to do here is stay in touch as friends so you can keep the door open.
After more than 13 years of stressing over how to fill school holidays with uninspiring craft activities or sitting on chilly beaches eating egg baps crunchy with sand – as is her birthright – The Dark Lord has made other plans.
“On Monday, I’m skateboarding in Southampton, on Tuesday seeing friends in Portsmouth, on Wednesday I’m shopping with Aunty Joce, and on Thursday I’m doing a picnic with Chloe, and on Friday I’m going to stay with Lila, and then on Saturday, DJ is coming round for movie night.” “But what about me?” I say, sadly. “Aren’t we going to see the meerkats in the zoo like we always do? Or maybe make AK47s out of cardboard loo rolls?”
She laughs at me. “Get lost, mother. That’s boring. You can do that if you want, I’m off boarding with my mates.”
And she leaves the house, slinging her rucksack on her back, filled with phone, wallet, house key and water bottle – none of which she’s lost in ages (OK, two weeks, but that’s quite long in a teenage life).
And then she comes home early in the evening when she says she will, has dinner, stacks the dishwasher, and takes herself off to bed at a sensible time.
It’s like aliens have come down and taken my teenage monster and replaced her with a well-behaved human replica.
So now I’m redundant, I’ve taken to stalking her while she’s out having fun.
“Call me,” I text her. So she rings me a minute or two later, and I ask her something really random like: “Do you remember that movie we went to see, what was the name of the baddie with the wonky eyes?”
She sounds slightly annoyed, but indulges me. Then I text again an hour later: “Call me as soon as you get this!” And she calls me back.
“Yeah, erm, let me know which train you’re getting later, OK,” I say.
“Yes, mother,” she replies with a sigh.
Then an hour later I text again.
“Call me – it’s urgent!!”
This time she rings and asks grumpily: “What?” And I do a tinkly guilty laugh and ask: “Just checking what you want for tea later?”
And she blasts back: “Whatever!” and puts the phone down.
Anyway, I clearly need to get a life, as The Dark Lord quite rightly points out.
Email me at siobhan.mcnally@mirror.co.uk or write to Community Corner, PO Box 791, Winchester SO23 3RP.