Is he really perfect, or are you just hurting?

"Self blame comes in handy when a relationship no longer works and leaving feels too painful. If we convince ourselves that someone is being hurtful or insensitive because of our own moral failings, there is still hope. If I'm the problem, then the happiness is entirely in my hands" – Craig Malkin, 2015

You probably know this story: your friend is in tears, and her heart is breaking. But you are completely baffled because the subject of such intense love is really boring/mean/lazy/obviously bad for her. And as she clings to your lapels and sobs, you try to hide the absolute confusion on your face. What the hell is she thinking?

Endorphins and dopamine do weird things to your brain and interpretation of reality. Sure, he's charming: but he's untrustworthy and unfaithful. Sure, he's rich: but he was unkind to you and an alcoholic. Sure, he's handsome: but he's shallow and impulsive. Sure, he's ambitious: but he's bitter and selfish. Sure, he's romantic: but he's dishonest and manipulative. I could go on. When you're in love, the bad bits blur out.

And there are always bad bits.

I'm not saying your ex/crush was Hitler. Or even abusive. But they aren't perfect gods who virtuously reached down from their clouds to bestow a little light on you, humble mortal. They were flawed. You might not be able to see it now, but they were.

That happy memory you have of the markets in autumn? Sure, that was good, but you've probably forgotten that nasty joke they made at your expense. You probably have forgotten the awkward silences and the way he didn't want to hold your hand. That wonderful dance you had? Sure, that happened. But so did the time he made you sit in silence while he did a jigsaw. The time he was rude to the waiter and humiliated you in front of his son. The awkwardness and anxiety you felt when he didn't text you back or call you for a week.

Nothing evil, no: but definitely not perfect. Not pure uninterrupted joy. Not total bliss. And yes. I definitely know that, as a fact. You weren't perfectly happy because it ended. There was friction, tensions, or issues there, even if you don't want to talk about them or remember them.

And if you are going to say no, no Madelaine, I completely screwed this up, I ruined it: probably not. Unless you full on cheated or were abusive, it's really not your fault when a relationship fails to work out. It does take two to tango. You were needy? So what, healthy couples can navigate that when they're in love. You were insecure? Someone who really loved you would work through that with you. You were overly anxious about losing them? What situation occurred to make you feel like that? How much of it was really your fault?

I blamed myself for the longest time when my last boyfriend ditched me. It was my fault, I decided, because I had texted him too much after our first trip together saying how happy I was to have found him. I had got annoyed when he called my excitement at showing him my drawing childish and boring. Why couldn't I have just been more grown up? More restrained? Less emotional? More discreet about my feelings?

Less like Madelaine Hanson?

Here's the thing; I didn't ruin it. It wasn't all my fault. He had done stuff that had pissed me off too, as much, if not more so. I'd just kept my mouth shut and tolerated it because I really liked him. It wasn't because I'd sent him a long voice note saying how much I liked and missed him, it wasn't because I held his hand too tightly at supper, it wasn't because I was too emotional or too intellectual. I was just wrong for him. He just didn't like me. He needed someone a bit less sensitive, less emotional, less creative, and yeah, less educated. I could never have played that role forever: that's a lie. He wouldn't be in love with me, just a ghost of a character I had invented for him.

He wasn't god: he just made the shot. He fired first at realising it wouldn't work. He wasn't too good for me, and there was nothing to break: it wasn't ever going to work. I'd know that myself when the hormones and grief had worn off.

Suddenly I wasn't mourning a man with eyes the colour of the riviera and black velvet shoulders, I was remembering the constant beer bottles, the arrogance and cruelty, the insecurity, and the disappointing sex. How lonely I'd felt. How dependent. How lost.

He wasn't perfect. And neither was I: we were just humans. And so are you, and the person you are hung up on. It'll be ok.

And sis? Delete him.