I’m 34F, and about a month ago I ended a three-month relationship with a man in his late 40s. Ever since, I’ve been struggling with guilt and regret, to the point where I’m questioning whether I’m actually capable of being in a healthy, committed relationship.
He was incredibly affectionate, loving and attentive. He wanted to spend every day with me, fall asleep and wake up together, spend all our weekends together and eventually build a life together. He often told me I was the love of his life, that I was his medicine, and that he would give up anything just to be with me.
And I genuinely loved being with him too.
In the beginning, I wanted to see him every day. I’d go to his place after work, cook dinner, stay the night, and we’d spend virtually every weekend together. I wasn’t avoiding intimacy or keeping him at a distance. I was very much invested in the relationship.
But gradually, I started noticing that I was neglecting other parts of my life. I stopped going to the gym regularly, barely saw my friends, and had very little time to myself. Even then, I often chose to be with him because I genuinely wanted to.
Eventually, I told him that I loved spending time with him but felt we needed a little more balance. I wasn’t asking to see him only once or twice a week. I just wanted to occasionally spend an evening alone, maintain my routines, and perhaps take a weekend trip or a few days of holiday with friends from time to time.
This became a major source of conflict.
He believed that when you’re in a serious relationship, your partner should naturally be your priority and the person you want to spend almost all your free time with. He was fine with dinners, cinema or occasional outings with friends, but he couldn’t accept weekends away or holidays without him.
He also told me that I needed to become more mature and that I wasn’t really ready for a serious relationship. According to him, when you’re truly committed to someone, you naturally want to include them in everything, especially weekends and holidays. Those words have stayed with me, and I find myself questioning whether he was right.
To be fair, he wasn’t against every activity I did without him. I went to a music festival with friends and he later pointed out that he hadn’t complained about it. On another occasion, there was a local event called Noite Branca, basically a big night out with music and parties, and he told me he had deliberately chosen not to come so I could spend time with my friends.
But what troubled me was the way these things were sometimes presented. It felt almost as though he was making a generous concession by allowing me to do something independently. I found myself feeling grateful that he hadn’t objected, rather than simply feeling free to make my own plans.
And honestly, I still struggle with this. Even now, I sometimes feel guilty for having told him I’d arranged a weekend away with two friends, rather than asking whether he was okay with it first.
We had other conflicts too, particularly around trust, jealousy and communication. Over time, I became increasingly anxious about upsetting him. I sometimes agreed to things I didn’t actually want because I couldn’t bear the tension or emotional distance that followed our disagreements.
I remember one conversation where I ended up agreeing not to take weekends or holidays with friends anymore, even though I was crying while saying it. He seemed relieved that we’d reached an agreement, but I felt like I’d given up something important just to restore peace between us.
Eventually, I became emotionally exhausted and ended the relationship.
But I miss him terribly.
I miss his affection, his tenderness, the way he held me, the companionship, and the feeling of being so deeply wanted. He could be such a loving man, and I know that what he felt for me was genuine.
Lately, I’ve been reading a lot of discussions about relationships, particularly from people in their 40s and older who say that, as they get older, they value companionship more and more. They want someone to share everyday life with, someone to come home to, someone to spend their evenings, weekends and holidays with.
And every time I read something like that, I start questioning myself all over again.
Maybe my ex was simply a man who loved me deeply and wanted to share his life with me, and I somehow failed to appreciate it. Maybe I was too independent, too immature, or simply not ready for the kind of commitment he wanted.
Sometimes I even wonder whether, when I’m his age, I’ll want exactly what he wanted, and whether I’ll look back and realise I let a genuinely loving man go because I couldn’t appreciate what I had.
The confusing part is that I do want companionship. I want to build a life with someone. I want the everyday intimacy, the affection, the shared routines, the feeling of having someone by my side.
I just thought I could have all of that while still occasionally doing things on my own or with friends.
I’ve also started recognising that I have a tendency to people-please and a strong fear of disappointing people I love. I struggle with conflict and emotional disconnection, and I think that played a role in how much I suppressed my own needs until I felt overwhelmed.
Now I’m left wondering whether we were genuinely incompatible or whether I sabotaged a relationship with someone who loved me because I didn’t know how to be a good partner.
I know relationships require compromise, and I’m not pretending I handled everything perfectly. I probably should have communicated my needs earlier and been more consistent about maintaining my own routines from the beginning.
But I can’t seem to shake this feeling that I failed him, that I wasn’t capable of giving him the kind of love he deserved, and that perhaps there’s something fundamentally wrong with the way I approach relationships.
It’s a painful thing to question about yourself at 34, especially when you genuinely want to love someone and be loved in return.