My boyfriend split up with me on Monday. I don’t feel heartbroken anymore, but I have experienced a little loss of confidence. Thursday I gathered my regrets and reflections on our relationship and then let them go. Friday my eyes were drawn to the held hands and affectionate gestures of complete strangers, but I had only fleeting pangs of melancholy. Saturday I stumbled upon some photos of us together over the summer, and it felt like I was looking at just one chapter in my life, one that was now quite suddenly closed. Those pictures represented then: a self-contained period with good and bad bits. I was not in a good state of mind the majority of the time, and having experienced my first serious relationship, I am really not in a hurry to repeat the process.

Now is an opportunity to start fresh. Now, I am looking out my London window at the London sky, hearing the rattling of London train commuters below. I can see the Shard and Canary Wharf from my bedroom, all lit up at night. I’ve met people I never knew existed before last week, I’ve cried on the phone to my mum, and I’ve laughed in hysterics in halls kitchens. Already I feel like I’ve experienced so many things that make me feel much more like a whole person than trying to please a guy ever did.

I’ve gone through a tumult of emotions in the past week, so many up and down periods that they’ve basically cancelled each other out. I don’t feel stronger or weaker, I don’t feel old or young—perhaps I don’t know how I feel. And that feels OK. ♦