Esther McCarthy: This has been the hardest breakup of my life

No such thing as a clean break-up

Esther McCarthy: I know I should be grateful for those five wonderful years. And maybe it was more than I deserved. Picture: Emily Quinn

This week’s tale is one of heartbreak and sorrow.

Reader, I can honestly say — without hyperbole — that this has been the hardest breakup of my life, and I never even saw it coming.

The worst part? I thought we were really happy, you know? I just feel so damn blindsided. Ugh.

I believed we had something special. That I wasn’t just one of their many adoring fans. Because, I’d heard their name around, I knew of them, they had quite the reputation — but never imagined they’d pick me.

Oh, I knew I wasn’t the only one they were seeing. I’m not naive. Other women wanted them too.

Some would even blatantly ask for their number right in front of me, as if I was going to share one of the most important people in my life just like that!

Okay, so yes, I knew I wasn’t the only one. But in my idiocy — and maybe arrogance — I really thought I was different.

I know I didn’t imagine what we had. You can’t tell me I was just another one of their desperate housewives. I know in my heart, it was real. You can’t fake that kind of connection.

We were in sync, okay? We had little in-jokes just for us. We shared stories of our childhoods. We gave each other thoughtful little presents. They always
remembered my birthday, and asked about how my weekend went. They listened, really listened. We just… got each other. And that’s rare.

So, I actually didn’t care if they saw other people, I tried not to think about that. All I know is, when they were with me, in my house, they made me feel like I was the only one.

Three hours a week, I got them all to myself. Those hours became the highlight of my week — pure joy, a precious thing.

I knew better than to ask for more. I was just so grateful to have that time.

God, I was such a fool! I used to count down the hours until I saw them again. A sliver of excitement building in the days beforehand, followed by deep satisfaction after they’d left.

Sure, it started as a professional relationship. But soon, we were texting on the days we didn’t see each other. We met out in public — we went for coffee, we picked places to try for lunch. We even went to a charity ball together last year. It was thrilling. I was so happy to move our relationship on to the next level.

As the months went on, they became integral to my wellbeing. Did you ever have someone whirl into your life and just make things better? They added so much value.

They just knew what I needed and gave it to me — with a beautiful smile — and kept reassuring me: This is the least you deserve. Don’t feel guilty for wanting this. For needing this.

They enhanced my life in so many ways. Like all the best relationships, I can only truly appreciate what I had now that it’s gone.

I know I should be grateful for those five wonderful years. And maybe it was more than I deserved.

But it’s so hard not to dwell.

“It’s time to move forward,” my friends say.

“Don’t look back.”

“You’ll find someone else, someone better.”

Easy for them to say.

I drive myself mad wondering what I could have done differently.

“It’s not you, it’s me,” they said. As if that made it easier. Ha! The oldest brush-off in the book.

“I just can’t do it anymore,” they told me in a text.

“For my health. For my family. But we’ll still see each other… as friends.”

Pfft. Sure, friends. But I want more. All I know is, I’ll never find anyone quite like them again.

Deep down, though, I can’t shake the feeling that maybe this is my fault... I used to make an effort, you know?

In those heady early weeks, I’d pull out all the stops. I’d pretend I had everything together. I’d usher them in, all competent, fun, and organised. I wanted them to think I’d be easy to be around. God, I’m embarrassed to admit it now, but I even wore make-up just for them those first few weeks.

I presented a lie. But they saw right through it, and instead of judging, they did everything they could to help me become that version of myself I was pretending to be. I owe them so much.

But over time, I got complacent. Lazy, even. I took them for granted. I stopped trying so hard.

Still, I always felt seen by this person. No matter what I was wearing, they told me I looked great. They noticed the little things; a new pair of earrings, a trip to the hairdresser. I could’ve come home dressed like Chappell Roan on top of a pink pony and my husband and kids would have been like: ‘ She’s gone mad on the Joanne Hynes again.”

But not them. They noticed everything. They knew all my dirty little secrets, they saw all my messes and they liked me anyway. They appreciated me. They listened. They were wise, and kind, and funny.

And now they’re gone.

And I have yet another bloody job on my massive to-do list: Find a new cleaner.