I’ve had many struggles in my life: my weave fell off on the street once, I can’t stop ordering latex pants, and I’ve been neglecting my obscenely expensive Flywheel classes to hook up with my girlfriend. (I actually have real struggles, too, trolls, but my dyke princess ones are way funnier to read about.) But perhaps one of my biggest struggles, the biggest tragic inconvenience to my pathetic life, is that not one, but two of my exes have gotten engaged. Like really engaged. With rings and Facebook relationship status updates and everything.
I have gone through all the pain, confusion, rage, pettiness, and healing that comes from your ex deciding to spend their entire lives with someone else. (It’s weird AF, right?) Remember when Carrie Bradshaw found out Big was engaged when she was drunk on Cosmos and flipped her chair in that bougie restaurant? I found out both times sitting on my couch wearing an oversized men’s T-shirt and period underwear, shoveling reduced fat snacks into my mouth but my sentiment was the same as Carrie’s: ARE YOU KIDDING ME? I’m not gonna lie, it really sucks. But lucky for you, I have lived to tell the tale, and now I’m your lez spirit guide to surviving the moment you scroll through Instagram and see a rock and the caption, “I said yes!” (Seriously, could they be any more basic?) I made it through, and so will you. Here’s what to expect, babe.
Charlie broke my heart. First, she left me for the girl we had a threesome with. As if that wasn’t bad enough, after we got back together, she broke up with me again, only to be engaged a month after. (She always said I was the intense one, but come on, now.)
After our second breakup, I pulled the classic "Can you drop off the hair tie and safety pin I left at your house?" move to get her attention. Pathetic but effective. She pulled up in her beat-up Jetta, rolled the window down, and unceremoniously handed me my collection of stuff. That’s when I noticed it. A tiny diamond on her left ring finger. It couldn’t be, I thought to myself. I stared at it the entire time we talked — about nothing. It couldn't be, I thought again.
I texted a few friends to ask, "Could Charlie be engaged?" Everyone was like, "Lol, no, that would be ridiculous." So I was like, "Yeah, she probably is."
Sure enough, I saw the official post soon after: red roses, a ring, a caption. It was official.
I’m a drama queen (this shouldn’t come as a surprise since I write about deeply personal issues for a living), so I secretly relished texting all my friends, lamenting that Charlie was engaged after only breaking up with me last month. I enjoyed performing my sadness and having everyone tell me how much better I was than her.
“That ring is totally hideous” became my tagline for the next six weeks.
I made one of my friends pretend to propose to me on Instagram. I was drunk on Champagne and pain at The Box, watching a burlesque performer pee into shot glasses, okay? I was in a dark place.
You’re totally going to compare yourself to the person your ex is engaged to. You’ll probably waver back and forth between agonizing over the fact that she’s way thinner than you, and wondering if she knows how ratty her hair extensions look.
Feeling upset and disoriented and overall weird because your ex got engaged is totes normal, even if you’ve moved on. You spent a significant amount of time with them, loved them and probably at one point thought they were “the one.” Now they’ve made the commitment to spend their LIFE with someone ELSE. That is WEIRD. Allow yourself to feel your emotions and don’t read into it meaning anything more than the fact that you’re just processing.
Just last week, I got a text from my best friend. A screenshot of a post from a different ex. One that we didn’t end on the best of terms. Though our relationship was riddled with irreconcilable differences, at the time, I believed that we might ~end up together.~
When I finally grasped what I was looking at, two perfectly manicured hands holding, one adorned in a tasteful princess-cut diamond, I was shook. Or was I? I’ve never been so confused (except the time I briefly thought I was attracted to a male waiter in a French restaurant — I blame the oysters). I had no idea how to feel. I acted shook because I felt like I should. Then I got sad because, like, it’s objectively disorienting to see someone that used to wrap their arms around you every night deciding to spend he rest of their life with someone.
I zoomed in on the ring, wanting to criticize it like I did Charlie's, but this one was mad beautiful. I sulked all night and listened to "Video Games" by Lana Del Rey on repeat.
But by the next morning, I completely forgot. I thought the heartbreak would be brutal, but when I woke up, I just texted my girlfriend, had coffee, and went to work. I only remembered the engagement when my best friend checked in on me. And by that point, I truly didn't care anymore.
Nothing is better than breaking a wine glass and scream-singing at the top of your lungs.
If you’re upset, you’ll move on. Your life will stay basically the same and after you realize this, you might even wish them the best.
Think about how much has changed since you dated your ex. Maybe you have an amazing new job, maybe you got a puppy, maybe you have a kind and fun new boyfriend or girlfriend, maybe you found a salon that threads your eyebrows for only $4. Just like they have changed and grown, so have you. Feel happy for them. Feel happy for yourself.
Prepare for the quarter life crisis to hit.
In conclusion, my fragile and sweet babe, if you’ve just found out your ex is going to be slow-dancing to "A Thousand Years" by Christina Perri with someone new, fear not. If you’re fantasizing about attending their wedding in a slutty red dress and screaming “I OBJECT!” when the priest asks if there’s any reason the two shouldn’t be united in holy matrimony, you’re totally normal. And if you're not anywhere near getting over it yet, give yourself time.
Oh, and if you feel your petty streak flaring up and want someone to pretend to propose to you, I’m your gal.
