How I Finally Moved On From Someone Who Was Never Really Mine
They were never my boyfriend. Never my girlfriend. Never my partner in any official sense. We never had the conversation, never made it exclusive, never changed our relationship status. To the outside world, we were nothing.
But to me, they were everything. And losing nothing that felt like everything was the hardest heartbreak I have ever experienced.
If you have been through this, you know exactly what I mean. The almost-relationship. The situationship. The "what are we" that never got answered. The person who held your heart without ever asking for it, who walked away without ever technically leaving.
There is no roadmap for this kind of grief. No socially recognized breakup to explain why you are falling apart. No clean ending, no closure, no official story you can tell people. Just a slow fade that left you holding feelings you were never supposed to have in the first place.
This is the story of how I finally let go. It was not quick, it was not pretty, and it was not linear. But eventually, I made it to the other side. And if you are stuck in that same purgatory, I want you to know that you can too.
The Beginning That Never Became Anything
We met through mutual friends. The attraction was instant — that magnetic pull you feel when someone just fits with your energy. Within weeks, we were texting constantly, finding excuses to be in the same room, staying up until 3 AM talking about everything and nothing.
I thought it was the beginning of something. All the signs were there. The long eye contact. The "accidental" touches. The way they remembered small things I mentioned and brought them up later. The energy between us was undeniable.
But the beginning never became a middle. We never crossed the invisible line between almost and actually. There was always a reason — they were busy, they were stressed, they just got out of a relationship, the timing was not right.
I accepted every reason. I waited. I convinced myself that patience would be rewarded, that they just needed time, that what we had was special enough to survive the ambiguity.
I was wrong.
The Slow Fade
Almost-relationships do not end with a bang. They end with a whisper. A gradual withdrawal so subtle you do not notice until you are already drowning.
The texts became less frequent. The plans became vaguer. The energy that used to fill my chest with warmth started feeling like anxiety. I was always the one reaching out, always the one suggesting we hang out, always the one trying to keep alive something that was slowly dying.
But I could not confront it because there was nothing official to confront. We were not together, so how could we break up? They were not cheating because they were not mine. They were not leading me on because they never promised anything.
The ambiguity was torture. I would convince myself it was over, then they would send a text that reignited my hope. I would decide to move on, then they would look at me a certain way and I would be right back where I started. I was trapped in a loop with no exit.
The worst part was not knowing whether to grieve. Was I losing something real or mourning a fantasy? Had we ever actually had what I thought we had, or had I imagined the whole thing?
The Grief That Has No Name
Eventually, it became clear. They were not going to choose me. They were not going to wake up one day and realize what they had. The almost-relationship was not a stepping stone to something more; it was the whole thing. And now it was over.
But I could not process it like a normal breakup. When my friends asked what was wrong, I did not know how to explain. "We were never official" sounds so small compared to what I felt. I was grieving a relationship I was not even allowed to call a relationship.
So I grieved alone, and I grieved in silence, and I grieved in my journal where no one could tell me I was being dramatic.
I wrote pages about them. About the moments I replayed on loop. About the future I had imagined. About the questions I would never get answers to: Why was I not enough? What was wrong with me? Did they ever feel what I felt, or was I alone in this the whole time?
The grief came in waves. Some days I felt fine, even relieved. Other days I could not get out of bed, paralyzed by a sadness I could not explain to anyone. There was no timeline, no stages, no clear path through. Just chaos and pain and the slow, grinding work of letting go.
Creating My Own Closure
Here is the hardest truth about almost-relationships: you will probably never get closure from them. There will be no final conversation, no explanation, no apology. They do not owe you anything because they never committed to anything.
So you have to create your own closure. And that is exactly what I did.
One night, I sat down with my journal and wrote them a letter. Everything I needed to say, everything I had held back, everything I wished they knew. I told them how much they meant to me. I told them how much it hurt to never be chosen. I told them I was angry and sad and confused and still, somehow, grateful for what we shared.
Then I wrote a letter from them to me. The response I needed but would never get. I imagined what they might say if they could be completely honest. Maybe they were scared of commitment. Maybe they did care but could not show it. Maybe they never meant to hurt me.
It felt strange, writing both sides of a conversation. But it helped. It gave me the ending the relationship never had. It let me say goodbye on my own terms.
The Long Road to Moving On
Moving on was not a single decision. It was a thousand small decisions, made over months, that slowly added up to freedom.
It was the decision to stop checking their social media, even though every cell in my body wanted to know what they were doing. It was the decision to mute their posts so I would not be ambushed by their face every time I opened an app. It was the decision to stop talking about them to friends, to stop keeping them alive in conversation.
It was the decision to feel my feelings instead of numbing them. To cry when I needed to cry. To write when I needed to write. To let the grief move through me instead of getting stuck.
It was the decision to replace them. Not with another person — I was not ready for that — but with other things. New hobbies, new friendships, new experiences. I filled the space they used to occupy with things that actually nourished me.
And slowly, so slowly I did not notice at first, the weight started to lift. I would go an hour without thinking of them. Then a day. Then multiple days. The memories that used to make me ache started to feel neutral, then distant, then almost like they belonged to someone else.
What I Learned About Myself
Looking back, the almost-relationship taught me more about myself than any official relationship ever had.
It taught me what I was willing to accept and what I should not be. I had tolerated ambiguity because I was afraid that asking for clarity would push them away. But someone who is pushed away by basic communication was never going to stay anyway.
It taught me that my intuition was trustworthy. I knew something was off. I felt the imbalance, the lack of reciprocation, the way I was always giving more than I received. I just did not want to believe it.
It taught me that I deserved someone who was sure about me. Not someone who kept me in maybe-land while they figured things out. Not someone who wanted the benefits of my presence without the commitment. Someone who chose me clearly, openly, proudly.
The Freedom on the Other Side
There is a strange freedom in finally letting go of someone you were never supposed to hold onto. When you stop waiting for them to choose you, you get to choose yourself. When you stop hoping for a future with them, you get to imagine a future that is entirely yours.
I am in that place now. The thought of them no longer triggers a spiral. I can see their name and feel nothing, or maybe a small wistfulness for what never was. The obsession has faded into acceptance, and acceptance has faded into peace.
I still believe in love. Maybe even more than before. Because I know now what I am looking for: someone who matches my energy. Someone who is clear about their intentions. Someone who makes me feel chosen, not tolerated.
And I know I am capable of deep, consuming, all-in love. I gave that to someone who did not deserve it, and I survived. Imagine what I will be able to build when I give it to someone who does.
To Anyone Still Stuck
If you are reading this and you are still in the thick of it — still hoping, still waiting, still checking their social media at 2 AM — I want you to know that I see you. Your grief is real, even if the relationship was not. Your pain is valid, even if you cannot explain it to others.
But I also want you to know that you can get through this. It will take time. It will take intentional effort. It will take a lot of writing and crying and feeling things you would rather not feel.
Start by acknowledging what you are grieving. Write it down. Give words to the loss, even if those words feel silly or dramatic. Let yourself mourn the future you imagined, the potential that will never be realized, the version of them you fell in love with that maybe never existed.
Then start building closure for yourself. Write the letter you will never send. Have the conversation in your journal that you will never have in real life. Give yourself the ending you need, even if they will not give it to you.
And finally, start choosing yourself. Unfollow them. Stop talking about them. Redirect the energy you were giving to them toward your own life. Fill the space with things that make you feel whole.
You deserve more than almost. You deserve someone who is all in. And letting go of the person who could not give you that is the first step toward finding the person who will.
It took me a long time to get here. But I made it. And so will you.