Beneath the Humor

I really should send Ariana Grande a thank-you card.

Her song We Can’t Be Friends came out right when I needed it most.

First—yes, I am a pop princess.

Second—it was like the universe handed me a permission slip that said,

“No, you actually don’t have to stay friends with your ex.”

At the time, I thought I was being dramatic.

Then I thought I’d made a mistake.

Then everything blew up—and I realized I’d accidentally made

one of the healthiest choices of my life.

Turns out, we really can’t be friends.

Especially when the love and friendship was built on

a time-bomb of lies and devastating cruelty.

These days, I’ve changed my song.

Maybe it’s because I’ve watched Wicked too many times—

but I’m definitely defying gravity and forging my own way.

So yes, I really should send Ariana Grande a thank-you card.

Maybe next she’ll write one about accountability—

featuring Bruce Springsteen, for obvious reasons.

Beneath the Humor

All joking aside, choosing to decline his request to “stay friends” when our relationship fractured was the healthiest thing I could have done for myself. The time away from him helped break the cycle of longing and reward. My brain began to clear from the mix of dopamine and serotonin highs of attention and affection and cortisol lows of neglect and confusion that created an addiction-like loop that is known as a trauma bond.

It’s basically the same brain chemistry that keeps people pulling the lever on a slot machine—hoping this time, the reward will come.

Beginning to break that chemical cycle early is what ultimately made it possible for me to end all contact once I learned the full truth about him.

I used to miss him like crazy. I missed who I thought was my friend—my most important relationship. I truly wish none of this had happened. Because there are still moments when I wish we could talk and have the familiarity we once shared. He is not all bad, and I truly did love him.

If this had happened five years ago, I probably would have sucked it up, stayed quiet, stayed loyal, and waited for him to move me through the love bombing, idealization, devaluation, discard, and hoover cycle—until he was ready for another round.

But I’m not that woman anymore. My relationship with him helped me finally love myself enough to protect my heart from people who hurt me—to choose me and my future over someone else’s woundedness. I was neither his wife nor the mother of his kids.

I didn’t have to stay and play in his polluted sandbox.

And 'love' wasn't a strong enough reason to stay.