The Real Cost of Freedom:  Losing love again & again.

EDIT: 112 days and 14 hours since we broke up. This article had one objective: to put my feelings on paper and try to make sense of my decision to end things. After almost four months of loneliness and deep reflection, I’ve learned my lesson. I’m not fine. I’ve failed the #no-contact rule so many times. It feels like it’s a losing game. I’m writing this post-edit with a broken heart.

I don’t want to be right anymore. I don’t want to argue or win any arguments. I just want to see and hold my ex one more time. It’s interesting how time makes you more attached than reasons ever could.

I wrote this article while reasoning with myself; I wish she’d come back. So far, she didn’t…

OCTOBER 2024

A few days ago, in the morning, I had a heavy talk with my partner, my ex-girlfriend (sorry). Breaking up with someone you’re truly attached to feels like going through rehab. It’s not just a clean cut; you don’t simply stop talking or feeling from one day to the next. Three weeks ago, I ended things because I felt unheard and disconnected in the relationship. I felt trapped. Yet, in the silence of being alone, I began to reflect. I realized that there was so much room for change on my end. If I made some serious shifts, our relationship could have been better. So, I reached out, hoping we could give it another try.

But as we talked, I realized that the issues we faced were still present, and I felt overwhelmed by my own insecurities. I feel once again I must take all the blame for the couple’s failure.

I’m simply asking for the space to be myself— to travel, to be free to visit Greece, to catch up with my female friends. These are things I shouldn’t have to fight for, things I consider normal. But our past issues all add a layer of worry to everything I do. She’s asked for peace, and I asked to stop overwhelming her with my desire to be out in the world and meet people. Ideally, to save the couple, I should stay home for a while…

And while I understand that, I struggle to accept it. I could cancel my plans to travel, stay back, and try to reconnect, but how long before I regret it? I want to go. I want to live. I’m afraid to sacrifice things that I might regret later on. Am I selfish?

Just need a bit of Balance.

Ideally, I wanted her to see my side, to acknowledge my need for connection, for freedom. I wished she’d tell me, “I understand that you need to see your friends, that you want to travel. But right now, we need to find each other again. If you truly value our relationship, let’s put us first, just for a short time, so we can rebuild.”

But that’s not what I heard. Instead, I was met with accusations: “You’re selfish. You’re an asshole. You’re a narcissist. You don’t prioritize and understand me; you never will.” It feels like I was choosing my friends over our relationship when it was about finding a balance for me.

I started to doubt myself, to feel less and unworthy. What if I’m that narcissistic and unempathetic person? Do I even deserve to be loved? What’s wrong with me? It’s such an awful sensation to be the trigger of pain in the person you love the most. Still today, I feel so bad that I couldn’t be the man she needed me to be at that moment. I didn’t have the resources or emotional intelligence to be fully present for her and make the right sacrifices to ensure we could thrive in the long run.

Desperate for Love & Anxious Attachment

If I think about what I want for myself, it’s simple. I want to do valuable work, travel, dance, see friends, build a family, and connect with interesting people. And I want to love and to be loved. I feel like a romantic person, desperate for a tender and sweet love.

Right now, my ex-girlfriend feels she can’t lean on me. I wasn’t there to support her when I should have (I still regret it today). Conversations turn into conflict. It feels like we are walking on eggshells, as if I have to hide parts of my life.

Despite all of this, I was willing to fight for us, even to the point of sacrificing my happiness. Staying back, canceling plans to see friends, to dance, not going on trips — it all feels like self-sacrifice. But I kept thinking: When do we return to a regular relationship life? When do we make this a two-way street?

I often struggled with feeling torn between my desires for freedom and the compromises needed for the relationship.

Instead, what I felt was her need for me to prioritize her, no matter the cost. She wanted this to be a habit, something that comes without even a thought. But I’m struggling with that. I wanted so much to be able to suppress my own desires to be the “Perfect Boyfriend” she needed me to be. Unfortunately, it’s a long path for me, and I don’t feel 100% ready today…

The Paradox of Love and Letting Go

What’s wild is that, despite everything, I deeply loved my partner. At least, by my own definition of love—one rooted in care and a willingness to sacrifice. And it’s fascinating, almost painful, to realize that the more you invest in a relationship, the harder it becomes to let go.

I think back to the long hours on buses, those late-night Flixbus trips between Brussels and Zurich, lasting eleven hours. Sometimes, I’d stop in Strasbourg for a couple of hours in the dead of night. I did that monthly, twice a month, spending countless hours, energy, and money just to be with her. The more you pour into a relationship, the harder it feels to walk away. It’s like being in a casino—putting in all your chips, wondering what if. What if just one more sacrifice, one more trip, one more night could change everything? What if I booked that flight from Brussels to Zurich, and we finally found love and peace again?

Yet, deep down, I know it won’t change things. I know that sending another message/email won’t change anything… It has to be a two-person journey.

Every hour, I check my emails, hoping that she would send me a message: “Just come back” & “Sorry, not sorry” “Let’s progress together” & “Let’s hope together” and “You + me = still possible“.

We have so many flows and vulnerabilities, as well, so many beautiful parts. Unfortunately, sometimes, when things get rough, we tend to focus only on the less desirable parts. Today, I feel guilty, and I see only the less desirable parts of my behaviors. So, yes, I’m blaming myself with a lot of What If?

• What if I had done this instead of …
• What if I had communicated my needs more clearly
• What if I had been a better listener from the beginning
• What if I respected the #no-contact rule more

➡️ Maybe then she would have come back.

There’s this song that calls love a “Wicked Game,” and sometimes, that’s exactly what a break-up feels like—a game that entraps you, keeping you bound to someone even when you know they’ll cause you pain. Why do I feel so enslaved, so addicted to the need to reach out to someone who will inevitably hurt me?

I’m caught in this loop where trust has eroded on both sides. She doesn’t trust me, and frankly, I don’t trust her either—not with everything that’s happened. And yet, I forgive. Again and again, like an addict who knows the damage but keeps going back, believing that maybe this time will be different. I keep clinging to the hope that one day we’ll find peace, that I’ll learn to act less on my own needs, and she’ll give me the freedom I need to feel at ease. But if it hasn’t happened over a year, why should it happen now, after a breakup?

I’m realizing that people don’t change so easily, even when they want to. And I truly do want to change. I want to be a better partner, a stable, secure boyfriend. But it’s hard, and I can’t do it on my own. I come from a mindset where being valuable as a man meant having that “playboy” edge—knowing how to flirt, to charm. These are traits that were encouraged and celebrated. And suddenly, in a relationship, those qualities need to vanish, or at least be channeled toward one person. Yet the instinct to flirt, to connect, doesn’t just disappear. I’m constantly wrestling with what I can or can’t do and who I can or can’t be around to avoid hurting her.

The Ideal Relationship: Freedom Within Commitment

What’s striking is that my friends tell me that a real relationship shouldn’t feel like a restriction. They say the healthiest relationship feels like:

Being single within a couple.

It’s about having the freedom to be yourself. without feeling that any misstep will result in punishment. That’s what I’m craving—freedom within commitment, a relationship where I don’t feel like I’m on a leash, constantly fearing the backlash of my mistakes.

I’m reading a book right now, L’amour dure trois, by Frédéric Beigbeder. It’s got me questioning whether love, for me, even lasts a year. Some of my past relationships have told me I’m not ready for something long-term. They say I idealize the idea of family—a wife, kids, blue eyes—but my actions show I’m unprepared for it. But what does being “ready” really mean? Does it mean obeying my partner’s rules and sacrificing myself? I genuinely think about “us,” yet I still act on my own desires, hoping they align with hers. I want to understand how the others are doing… How are they different in their actions than me?

My ex-partner has told me how much she hates me now—for the pain, the fights, the endless debates. I hate myself for realizing that our love turned to hate for my behaviors. I keep asking myself: What did I do so wrong to end up here? I didn’t cheat; I didn’t disrespect her; I never did anything to hurt her intentionally, I wasn’t violent. I was just… me. Expressing my needs—to see friends, to move freely, to feel unconfined. But I clung to those needs with such conviction that it became a battle.

When I set my mind to something, I don’t waver. If I want to go to Dour with my friends, I’m going to Dour with my friends. And yes, I’d reassure her the whole time, send messages, update her, and make it clear I’m safe and respectful. But for me, that freedom is non-negotiable. And maybe that’s the problem. Maybe being ready for a long-term relationship means being willing to cancel, to set aside what I want for the relationship’s sake. But why does it feel so unnatural for me? Why do I always choose my happiness over the peace in my relationship?

Is My Desire for Freedom Like a Form of Infidelity?

Sometimes, I wonder if my choices mirror the mindset of someone who cheats. They think, I want this, I’ll go for it, even if it means paying the price later. I’m not unfaithful, but my behavior—insisting on traveling or doing things that bring me joy despite knowing it might cause her pain—feels eerily similar.

For me, relationships are a constant conversation. I want to know why she doesn’t want me to go to that techno festival. What is it that bothers her? How can we deal with those feelings? And yes, I realize that I end up playing the role of the “savior,” trying to fix and change her feelings. But is that fair? Maybe she has her own boundaries, her own comfort zones, shaped by her past. Maybe, for her, it’s simple: A serious boyfriend doesn’t go to techno festivals and sleeps alone in a campsite.

In a way, I’m exclusive and traditional, too. For example, in my mind, there’s no debate about fidelity. An exclusive relationship means no intimacy with others. That’s not up for discussion. Yet, in almost every other part of my life, I treat things as negotiable, open to debate. I’d want to know why if she wanted something, even if it felt counterintuitive to me. I’d like to discuss it, understand her needs, and hopefully find common ground. For me, that’s how you build understanding and connection.

But maybe I’m wrong… Maybe a long-term couple needs partners who share the same values so clearly that there’s no need for all these conversations. No battles, just mutual understanding. And maybe that’s why people find compatibility in shared religion, social background, or culture. With similar values, you don’t have to justify your actions constantly. There’s an unspoken agreement, a shared foundation that keeps things steady. You don’t need to negotiate every move.

But I’m lost. Completely lost. I wish it were simpler. I wish there were a clear path to understanding what I need and what’s possible in a relationship.

Another Goodbye, Another Attempt to Let Go

I’m writing this article for myself. To make sense of it all. To reflect on where it went wrong and, hopefully, to avoid making the same mistakes again. And here I am, driving on, the sun shining, my tears drying. It will take time to date again, to trust again, to genuinely open my heart. Giving my heart has been so painful, but I know that out of 4 billion women, I picked this one, convinced she was the one. I invested everything, trying to make it work, hoping she would be my forever.

I wish we could restart fresh, free from the baggage of past mistakes. Maybe it wasn’t meant to be for the Arthur of 2024, but for the Arthur of the future, the one who has grown through pain and reflection.

I’m almost 30, and my desire to build a family to create a meaningful life with someone runs deep. I crave that lasting intimacy with someone who will stand by me, who will hold my hand when things get rough, and with whom I can share a brighter future.

To Everyone Going Through a Breakup: A Final Word

If you’re in the middle of a breakup, there’s something my friends told me:

Millions, if not billions, of people have been where you are. And for each one of them, it was hard.

I don’t know anyone who’s had a “great” breakup. It always feels terrible—whether you’re the one who ended it or the one left behind. I still watch my phone every 10 minutes, hoping for a “sign” from her. I still cry in my sleep thinking of her. But that’s what makes us human. That’s what makes us lovers. We’re resilient. We fall, we hit rock bottom, and we go even lower. Every time we reach back out to that person, it’s like digging our own grave…

But we get up. Again and again, we rise. And we learn so much from it. What doesn’t kill our hearts makes us stronger. Maybe we are not ready yet for the person who will make everything worthwhile, and we’ll have to go through more breakups like this. Eventually, one day, our time of hurt and heartbreak will be over, and perhaps it will be the beginning of something new—something good.

To everyone feeling alone, at rock bottom—you’re not alone. We’re connected through friends, family, and shared heartbreak. Our hearts are meant to be broken; otherwise, how would we recognize when they’re fully alive? As human beings, we’re resilient. We make mistakes, get hurt, feel pain, and break. But each time, we come back stronger, with more hope, more courage, and even greater dreams for what love could be. We become better, piece by piece, until one day, we find Love 💙.

Ma liberté
Devant tes volontés
Mon âme était soumise
Ma liberté
Je t’avais tout donné
Ma dernière chemise
Et combien j’ai souffert
Pour pouvoir satisfaire tes moindres exigences
J’ai changé de pays, j’ai perdu mes amis pour gagner ta confiance

Ma liberté
Tu as su désarmer
Toutes mes habitudes
Ma liberté
Toi qui m’a fait aimer
Même la solitude
Toi qui m’as fait sourire
Quand je voyais finir une belle aventure
Toi qui m’as protégé quand j’allais me cacher pour soigner mes blessures

…

Ma liberté
Pourtant je t’ai quittée
Une nuit de Décembre
J’ai déserté les chemins écartés
Que nous suivions ensemble
Lorsque sans me méfier
Les pieds et poings liés, je me suis laissé faire
Et je t’ai trahi pour une prison d’amour et sa belle geôlière
Et je t’ai trahi pour une prison d’amour et sa belle geôlière

– Ma Liberté by Georges Moustaki