February 13, 2026 Let’s stop pretending.
When someone says, “I miss him,” most of the time that’s not what’s really happening.
Do you miss the man? Or do you miss how easy it was to be smaller.
You miss being the flexible one. The low-maintenance one. The “it’s fine, I get it” one.
That version of you who could swallow something uncomfortable and convince herself it was maturity.
You miss not having to hold the line.
That’s what stings. Not the relationship. The comfort of who you got to be inside it.
The Rule
When the show closes, it’s not the co-star you miss. It’s the part you built your personality around.
Let’s be ridiculous for a second.
Do you actually miss him? Or do you miss the routine?
The 1:48 a.m. “you up?”
The emotional Wi-Fi cutting out whenever there was an obstacle.
The dramatic return like he’d just come back from war instead of brunch.
There was choreography. You over-explained. He under-delivered. You called it depth.It wasn’t love. It was a long-running off-Broadway production where you kept renewing your own
contract.
And now that the show closed, you’re not grieving the man. You’re grieving the role.
Before you jump off the deep end, this isn’t bitterness.
It’s not pretending you didn’t care.
Now you’re realizing growth makes old dynamics look embarrassingly small.
Going back wouldn’t be romantic. It would be nostalgia in a push-up bra.
You don’t need to swear off dating. You don’t need to disappear into isolation and call it alignment.
You need to date as someone who no longer negotiates basics like they’re luxury upgrades.
That’s the shift. One clings to familiarity. The other walks into rooms expecting better casting.
That version of you that tolerated chaos was surviving.
The version of you now? She’s casting, darling.
