The Challenge I Didn’t Think I’d Survive

There’s a certain kind of heartbreak when you realize you’ve been holding reins to nowhere. That was me, two winters ago, staring down 400 acres of snow-covered land in a small Montana valley, trying to convince myself that marrying my college boyfriend—the sweet but steady Eric—wasn't a great practice in self-deception. Our relationship had become predictable the way February in Montana is: gray skies, slow winds, everything blanketed in monotony. And yet, the thought of ending it? That felt like standing barefoot in a snowstorm without an exit in sight.

I thought I’d survive anything—wildfires, frigid horseback rides at dawn, even getting swooped on by a hawk once (long story)—but breaking up with a perfectly “nice” guy? That almost broke me.

The Weight of “Nice”

Eric was dependable. A hot cup of tea on a cold morning. He carried my groceries up my rickety apartment stairs in Missoula without being asked and never forgot to lock the door behind him. He liked trail mix, his mom's brisket, and any movie featuring Tom Hanks.

Which, to be clear, is great. Except that nice doesn’t equal right. And when the realization hit me—that he wasn’t the person I’d want at the bonfire of hardships life throws at you—it felt like the mountains that raised me were collapsing.

We’d met at Montana State under the shared pressure of too many exams and too few hours of daylight. But something about our connection had always felt...convenient. He liked rock climbing; I preferred riding bareback but agreed to tie into the harness. I loved poetry; he tolerated it for me, nodding along to Neruda like he was just humoring a toddler reciting their ABCs. I had this itch for adventure, the kind that didn’t involve booking a zipline tour, and slowly, Eric's steadfast practicality began to feel like cement around my boots.

Yet, the idea of ending it felt almost unthinkable because, on paper, he ticked all the boxes: polite, earnest, reasonably well-read. Every petty breakup cliché—“You deserve better,” “It’s not you, it’s me”—felt like it would bounce off his sincere brown eyes like insults at a puppy. But what do you do when “nice” starts to suffocate you faster than a January blizzard?

The Blowout I Couldn’t Contain

Fittingly, our breakup came to a head in a place that can break just about anyone: IKEA.

Picture us: a couple of millennials debarking on the couples' equivalent of Lord of the Rings. (You think you’re here for a simple, peaceful journey, but deep down, you know someone’s leaving emotionally battered.) We'd driven three hours to Salt Lake City for a DIY storage project, which, now that I think about it, was an apt metaphor for where our relationship was headed—endless assembly requiring more effort than it was ever worth. Halfway between Bedroom Storage and Lighting Fixtures, we had what I can only describe as The Fight.

It started small, as fights born in IKEA often do. I wanted the whimsical bedside lamp shaped like a tulip; he wanted "something sensible" in black. As our voices climbed, the lamp became less lamp and more symbol: him wanting stability, me craving freedom. The next thing I knew, we were quoting passive-aggressive digs from past arguments right there in front of a baffled sales associate.

As stunned onlookers navigated around us pushing flatbed carts of flat-packed regrets, I realized: the worst fights don’t come from what someone does wrong—they come from realizing that they’ll never truly understand what you need. And I? I needed to walk away from Eric.

Lessons in Leaving

Breaking up was like trying to round up a herd of ranch cattle during a mid-March storm: stressful, inevitable, and guaranteed to leave everyone a little bruised. But out of that snowstorm, I learned some things.

If you’re feeling stuck in a relationship that’s “nice”—not bad, but not nourishing either—here’s what you might need to hear:

1. A Relationship Needs More Than History.
Just because you’ve climbed mountains together doesn’t mean you need to keep scaling them. Shared memories are not a life sentence. It’s okay to cherish what was while stepping toward what could be.

2. Don’t Wait Until IKEA Explains Everything.
If you’re avoiding a hard conversation because you “don’t want to hurt someone,” let me save you the suspense: you’re hurting them anyway. If the situation feels broken, dragging it out only dulls the cracks.

3. It’s Okay to Want More.
Wanting more from a partner—more passion, curiosity, or compatibility—doesn’t make you demanding. It makes you honest. Relationships should feel collaborative, like a great tango or a good fence line you both help mend.

4. The Right Love Won’t Feel Like Settling.
There’s love that feels like a fenced pasture, and love that feels like the open range. Don’t convince yourself you belong in the smaller space when your soul craves the other.

Finding My Way Through the Snowstorm

After Eric and I parted ways, I spent a long week on my parents' ranch, helping mom feed the horses and occasionally sneaking into the hayloft to cry. It felt like every bird in Montana had flown straight into my chest, all feathers and aching wings. But then, as things do, life went on.

There’s an odd kind of confidence you get once you’ve done something you didn’t think you could survive. It's like standing tall after being thrown from a horse—you ache in the strangest places, but you’re proud because you got back up.

And here’s the wild thing about ending something “nice”: after you clear away the heartache, the doubts, and the Tom Hanks movies, there’s room for something better to find you.

For me, that “better” turned out to be more time alone in Montana’s backcountry and less time faking contentment on Eric's living room couch. I started writing again, unrushed and unapologetic, and oh, the freedom in that was like barreling through snow at a gallop.

You’re Stronger Than You Think

If you’re on the edge of a hard decision—a breakup or any challenge that feels like it might undo you—let me be the first to tell you that you can survive it. Yes, it’ll feel messy; yes, it might involve an actual IKEA meltdown. But trust me when I say nothing good ever came from staying tethered to a life or person that doesn’t let you grow.

Sometimes, the hardest choice teaches you the depth of your own resilience. And when that snowstorm clears, what you’ll find isn’t just wide-open skies—it’s a wide-open you.