The Challenge I Didn’t Think I’d Survive

The Night it All Went South

Picture this: a cozy date night in my perpetually drafty Montreal apartment. My then-boyfriend and I had managed to cook dinner together without arguing over the proper way to chop an onion—progress for any couple still in their "figuring out the rhythm" phase. The candles were lit, the mood was set, and I had just uncorked a bottle of organic wine in one of those self-congratulatory, "wow, look at me adulting" moments.

Then it happened.

"You know," he said, casually swirling his glass as if the next sentence wouldn’t blow my carefully curated evening to smithereens, "I’m not really sure I believe in long-term relationships."

Record scratch. Freeze frame. Hi, I’m Juliette. You’re probably wondering how I got here.

This wasn’t the first time I’d been broadsided by an existential relationship question mid-dinner, but it was certainly the most profound. This wasn’t a critique about how I fold my socks (poorly, if you must know) or the age-old debate about who left the almond milk out of the fridge—it was a bombshell. And it forced me to confront something bigger than the relationship: myself.

The Five Stages of "Wait, What Did He Say?"

Let me tell you, when someone hits you with the "I’m not sure I believe in this thing we’re actively doing," it’s a rollercoaster ride through the emotional funhouse. Here’s the route:

  1. Denial
    I mean, surely he didn’t mean that, right? Maybe he was just trying to sound deep, like one of those tortured French philosophers who chain-smoked under gloomy skies in my McGill Comparative Lit seminars. I replayed the words in my head as though repetition might uncover some secret meaning. Maybe I misheard?

  2. Anger (but make it French)
    "Tu te fous de moi?" Translation: Are you messing with me? My Québécois temper came in hot. You don’t sign up for a romantic five-course tasting menu of life with someone only to confess halfway through the soup course that you might not "get" food.

  3. Bargaining
    "Maybe he just needs time," I told myself, conveniently ignoring the fact that he was a strong believer in spontaneity (read: noncommittal) from day one. I briefly considered a PowerPoint presentation to convince him of the virtues of "us."

  4. Sadness
    Cue the sad girl hours on my Juliet balcony (yes, I romanticized my tears). A steady soundtrack of Coeur de pirate played as I mourned the idea of a relationship I’d already begun to outgrow, even if I didn’t realize it yet.

  5. Acceptance (and Popcorn)
    Now, dear reader, this is where the plot thickens. Acceptance didn’t pack up and move into my heart overnight. It came slowly, like the way snow piles onto Montreal sidewalks—layer by layer until you have no choice but to roll up your sleeves and shovel through it.

Facing the "What Now?"

I think one of the most terrifying truths about relationships is that we can love someone and still find ourselves at a crossroads where that love alone isn’t enough. This was one of those moments.

For weeks afterward, I made every excuse to avoid facing the truth. I distracted myself with work, French literature (Camus is especially good for existential crises, FYI), and unnecessarily long trips to the farmer’s market. The thought of losing the relationship felt like failure—as though a breakup would mean something was inherently wrong with me, or the way I love, or the way I trust.

But here’s what I realized: the breakup isn’t the failure. Staying somewhere that chips away at your sense of self is.

Rediscovering Myself in the Aftermath

Once we ended things (amicably, over croissants, because Montréalers own sadness with class), I faced the daunting prospect of figuring out who I was outside of the relationship. It felt a bit like being a character in one of my own novels—the kind of heroine who wakes up on page 127 and realizes the life she thought she was building needs a rewrite.

Here’s how I pulled myself out of that hazy post-breakup fog:

  1. I Got Literal
    Julia Cameron’s The Artist’s Way encourages writing morning pages, and let me tell you, there is no better place to unload your existential angst than three handwritten pages at dawn. For weeks, my notebook was filled with questions like "Who even am I?" and unhinged doodles of café scenes. For what it’s worth, it worked.

  2. I Became My Own Date
    Sunday mornings became sacred. A walk along the cobblestone streets of Old Montreal with a flaky almond croissant in hand? Pure poetry. I stopped waiting for someone else to make my days feel special and took that responsibility into my own (slightly crumb-covered) hands.

  3. I Took the Long View in Short Steps
    Picture this breakup like cramming for an impossible exam. You want every answer immediately—but life doesn’t work that way. Instead of trying to solve "who I was" all at once, I focused on mini-epiphanies. Like, yes, I actually do love solo museum dates. Or, no, I’m not actually passionate about hiking; please stop asking me to climb mountains.

  4. I Learned the Power of "No"
    There’s this post-breakup superpower that no one talks about: the ability to confidently say, "No, thank you" when dating prospects don’t align with who you are. Flaky texter? No merci. Soup enthusiast who hates baguettes? Absolutely not.

Your Compass After the Collapse

If you’re reading this and you feel stuck in a relationship that feels... wobbly, let me be your slightly bossy older sister for a moment: it’s okay to leave. It’s okay to want something bigger, deeper, or just different. Leaving doesn’t mean you gave up; it means you acknowledged your worth—and let’s be clear, no one can give you that compass except you.

And if you’re in the “figuring it out” stage, here’s a spoiler: you’d be amazed at what you can survive. Heartbreak is scary, but so is skydiving, and people do that for fun.

So go on. Dust yourself off. Write those morning pages. Eat a croissant in a park just because you feel like it. Build a life that feels more like you.

And the universe? Well, it has a funny habit of meeting you there, right where you’re meant to be.