Between breakup number six and breakup number seven (which were breakups from the same man), I poured everything I had into a relationship that was ultimately destined to fail. I had my reasons—and no regrets—but I look back on that time as one of the most challenging chapters of my life.

I never really gave much thought to anger as an emotion. More often, what I felt was irritation—a quiet undercurrent that, if unnoticed, could register as anger to those around me. This realization hit home when I was partnered with a man whose significant mental health challenges and fixed, victim-oriented mindset led him to project his own anger onto me. The pain was deep, and the experience reshaped my understanding of this powerful emotion. Now, with the clarity that comes from solitude and self-discovery, I see that even the suffering carried wisdom and growth.

I had a race about an hour south of home. I’d been to the location before, but somehow, I got lost. Not once—but twice. I went to the wrong address, then a second wrong address, and by the time I realized my mistake, it was too late. I never made it to the starting line.

People often ask me, “Did you know before he was born?” And every time, I pause. Because it’s not a simple yes or no. That question used to land like a rock in my chest—not because I didn’t want to answer, but because it carried this subtle, unspoken suggestion that there might be something “wrong” with Evan.

Too often, we focus on the negatives when looking back on past relationships—the frustrations, the incompatibilities, the moments of conflict. It’s easy to slip into a narrative where an ex becomes a collection of grievances rather than a complex, multifaceted person who, at one point, played a meaningful role in our lives.