"I left because there was no room for me. But you could tell me not to go. Say it to me. Tell me not to go." ~ Stephen Sondheim, Sunday in the Park with George When did you know it was time to go?

This prompt harkens back to a long-ago, three-year relationship that had a very painful ending. Steve and I lived in his condo and we worked for the same company--as it turned out, a definite recipe for disaster. He was smart, fun, and we had the common interest of enjoying the outdoors, taking many camping trips together to Yosemite. But after three years, I could feel the relationship changing. How did I know when it was time to go?

• when in conversations with 3rd parties about future plans, I began to hear him say "I" instead of "we"
• when laughter became rare
• when conversations felt forced
• when prolonged, empty silences seemed uncomfortably loud
• when I realized that touching and cuddling was mostly initiated by me

I knew it was time to go without being directly told. His actions spoke volumes although his words on the subject were non-existent. To save face, I turned breaking up into my idea, even though it really wasn't something I wanted. I took ownership of the break-up and then desperately hoped that I'd be mistaken about his feelings. I clung to wishful thinking that he'd tell me he really didn't want to lose me; that he'd ask me to please stay. It didn't happen that way. Instead, he had a new girlfriend almost instantaneously--too soon be be "coincidence."

At that point, I became the wronged woman and admittedly a little scary. I stubbornly decided I wanted him to take what I perceived to be rightful ownership of the break-up. I questioned him relentlessly and wore him down until he admitted that the new relationship had started in secret even before I left. He didn't make the confession proudly or defiantly, in fact he even whimpered a little when he actually spoke the words. I got the admission I wanted, but it sure didn't make me feel any better.

Ensconced alone in my new apartment, I embarked on a frenzy of activity, making plans with everyone I knew. I left my job of over five years so that I wouldn't have to see him every day, and so our co-workers wouldn't feel like they needed to take sides one way or the other. I was tearful and hurting. My parents were so worried that my dad came from Arizona and spent several days with me. It was then that he told me about a rough break-up he had with a girlfriend when he was in the Army, before meeting my mother. I was touched that he confided in me, and grateful that he was the type of dad who wanted to be there for me during a tough time in my life.

It took me a very long time to get over the hurt, betrayal, and the feeling of being unloved. Sometimes knowing that it's time to go is just as painful as being told to leave.