What it’s like sharing a bedroom wall with your ex

“No one was betrayed, scorned or vengeful, we were just two sad idiots in love who had to split their bedrooms up.”

We met on Tinder, and our first date was a Hanson concert at the Summer Night Concert Series at the Melbourne Zoo. It was a last-minute decision. He had an extra ticket from a leftover Christmas present, and I nearly didn’t go. A few beers in, I remember texting my friend in the bathroom, telling them I love, love, loved him and that he was both very tall and very funny. Regardless of the inflated-price lager, those words are still all true.

That spontaneous zoo concert turned into three years, and the next thing we knew we were both very excited, albeit stressed, to sign the lease on our first place together. The thing about a really juicy plot twist is you never see it coming. It was a regular Sunday afternoon, and after a lot of tears and a very long conversation, we simply decided that despite our best efforts, neither of us had the capacity to continue how things were. And just like that, Big died.

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I need to take advantage of that joke opportunity while it’s still relevant, but ultimately both stories end with an unwanted exercise bike and a suddenly empty bed. But as many couples who’ve been together through COVID will know, breaking up and moving out through lockdowns and impending economic disaster was particularly challenging. 

Breaking up sucks. God, it sucks so fucking bad. The inescapable heaviness in your heart, the stomach lurches every time you realise your normal is no more and you no longer have your go-to plus-one (among other trials and tribulations). I get it, it’s good for the plotline/my personal development as a human being.

There’s a reason breakups are still a primary plot device in films – if you’re open to it, they can teach you lessons you didn’t realise you needed to learn about yourself. They’re a cruel gift from the universe. They can cause you to cry through your mask on public transport and order wholesale quantities of your favourite childhood milkbar lolly online, because sometimes they’re just really hard.

After ‘calling it’ in the eye of the tornado one cloudy Sunday afternoon, there wasn’t any real anger between us. No one was betrayed, scorned or vengeful, we were just two sad idiots in love who had to split their bedrooms up. If I can offer any life advice real quick, it’s to have a spare room when you move in with someone, even if there are three of you, because that third ‘spare’ room is a priceless safety net in the event of the unthinkable.

The day I moved into the spare room (in pursuit of better plant lighting) I played a queue of breakup bangers and ballads for the entire house to enjoy together. It was weird, the situation was weird – everything just felt weird. Between all the tears we managed to find the laughs where and when we could, which is exactly what we went on to do for nine months.

I’m not using nine months as a maternal metaphorical period of time, we literally lived together (and shared a bedroom wall) for nine months post-breakup. Did I mention he’s a musician? As you can imagine, or maybe you’ve experienced yourself, breaking up alongside someone is a really unique experience. I gotta tell ya, if the opportunity presented itself again I’m not sure I would take it.

Our lines of communication were still very much open (yay) but suddenly overnight the boundaries had shifted. The extra cherry on top was the new discussions we were having. What happens when we want someone to sleep over? When do new pursuits become a comfortable conversation to have? How do we see our new relationship post-living together? Fun things like that.

On paper, being able to hold his hand or visit him up the hall on demand helped the transition from each other’s person to best friends and close housemates. But it also made our farewell that much harder. It was like a breakup part two, but the sadder sequel that involved lots of packing. I got what I thought I wanted, the ‘mutually healthy’ breakup. And it sucked heaps.

There were absolutely days we wished we hated each other because it would’ve been so much easier to draw that line and commit to vengeance and spite. Of course, we talked about calling the breakup off and getting back together – it would’ve been impossibly easy to go back to how things were. But we both knew we’d eventually end up in the same cycle of burnout and miscommunication, and we both had a lot of growing to do. Being healthy is hard.

If you’re reading this and thinking, ‘Oh my god they’re in love with him and they don’t know it’, let me put your concerned heart at rest. We’re well past that point. I don’t plan on my love for him disappearing, it’s just a different shape and colour now. Reformatting and recontextualising who he is romantically, emotionally and mentally in my past, present and future was, as I said, a lot.

Weird, hard and a lot. Breaking up with your best friend with only a wall between you was its own flavour of traumatic, and I think he would strongly agree with me on that. But I’m really thankful we didn’t do what was easy. We didn’t let things turn bitter and sour, and we didn’t let ourselves regress into memories of the past.

Instead, we’re both looking forward to where each of our futures takes us, as individuals and friends. If I can offer one last piece of advice – not that any of the aforementioned tales should indicate I’m someone you should take life advice from – it’s that sometimes love is enough and you can commit to making it work every single day, and that’s awesome. But sometimes it’s not, and you’ve gotta know when to leave the party and go home. 

For more on navigating a breakup with someone you live with, try this.