It was my sister who told me Ollie* was getting married.
She casually dropped it into a phone call just as she was hanging up and I felt the ice-cold hand of jealousy clutch my heart.
Despite the fact we’d broken up four years ago, Ollie was the person I thought I was going to marry.
We had lived together, proposals had been discussed and future baby plans hinted at. I took it as fact that we would get married because there was no way I’d find anyone more perfect than him.
We split because we rushed things. We moved in together very quickly, I freaked out and feeling overwhelmed, I suggested a ‘break’ (I know, so 2009). Sadly for me, Ollie was more of an all-or-nothing guy.
In the months afterwards I was a living cliche: I was that woman you see bursting into tears on the tube or at the corner shop, stockpiling ice cream in jogging bottoms, covered in take away stains.
It was the first time I’ve ever felt actual, physical heartbreak. Hopefully it will be the last.
I moved on as best I could. A few short-term boyfriends came and went, I threw myself into my career, got back into my arts and crafts, went out with friends and as the time passed, Ollie slowly began to disappear from my mind. Emotionally stability resumed. I thought I was OK.
However, when the ex-love of your life celebrates a milestone with another person it kicks up a host of emotions. No matter how amicable or right a break up, and no matter how much time has passed since, when your ex officially moves on it feels so… final.
I felt like Gwyneth Paltrow in Sliding Doors, imagining Ollie’s new partner slipping into my shoes and living the life that could have easily been mine.
I imagined his fiancee as beautiful, smiley, talented – and as pathetic as it sounds, I felt inadequate in comparison. I felt left behind.
So, in a display of perfectly healthy behaviour, I stuck my head in the sand in the hope the wedding day would somehow pass without me realising.
I deleted or blocked any of our mutual friends to shield myself from pictures or details and maintained a state of blissful ignorance.
Social media makes it so much harder to move on from someone you used to love. Where once you ran the risk of bumping into your ex at the shop, maybe the pub, I had access to my ex’s life at the click of a button.
And even though I knew – we all know – that social media posts are as carefully selected as pieces of art, it’s hard to dismiss gushing declarations of love or picture-perfect wedding photos as anything but real.
It’s even harder when you’re still single and yet to find your own #couplegoals.
I do my best at being an independent, strong woman and there are aspects to single life that I love – the absolute freedom of it and not having to factor someone else into my life.
But there’s still a large part of me that wants to have breakfast in bed or to wander around Christmas markets with someone I really like.
While Ollie was picking wallpaper samples with what’s-her-face (…probably), I was on my second-hand sofa, legs unshaved, hair in a scraggly pony-tail, swiping my way through the shark-infested water of dating apps.
A week or so after the wedding, a friend was flicking through Facebook, pulling faces and throwing nervous glances my way. Giving in, I thrust my hand towards her, took a glug of wine and said: ‘Come on then, let’s see.’
There was Ollie in his suit, proudly standing stood next to his stunning bride.
Did I throw up all over the floor? No. Did I collapse in a pool of tears or burst into flames? No.
I just saw someone I used to love looking incredibly happy.
In that moment I realised: the idea true love can only exist with one person was completely wrong.
We are force fed the notion that there is only one person who can love you unconditionally, and vice versa. But love is a feeling we all carry and a select few people in the world can unlock it, not just one.
Someone once told me that we all have seven soulmates and it’s a matter of luck as to which one you meet first. So when you’re cuddled up with Jack, thinking he’s the one, Ben, Frank, Marco and Sam would have all been just as great – Jack just happened to be in the coffee shop that Wednesday as you ordered your flat white.
I find this theory quite comforting because for a while, Ollie was my ‘one’ – the way he looked at his wife on his wedding day was the way he once looked at me.
She wasn’t better, prettier, or more intelligent than me, and the love they shared wasn’t necessarily stronger, she was simply his ‘next one’ – and there are six other people out there waiting for me.
As simple as it seems, seeing those pictures was the closure I needed.
They removed the rose-tinted glasses and I was reminded of the reasons I wasn’t beside Ollie wearing white.
He never quite mastered the ability to make me really, really laugh. Sometimes he was overshadowed – almost trampled – by my loudness. I also caught myself on several occasions trying to change him – the way he dressed, or his hair – something you should never do to another human being.
I am thankful for Ollie, and for all my exes. They are a part of my love story, and seeing Ollie so crazy about someone else has made me understand that I’ll feel that same fierce love for someone else again one day.
He has helped me to see what I want, which I guess is what many people want in a partner: someone who makes me happy, who I don’t want to run a million miles from and who loves me for the good and the bad.
Until then I’ve just got to be patient… and maybe cut back on the social media stalking.
Last week in Love Or Something Like It: A break-up almost killed me but cricket healed my heart
Write for Love, Or Something Like It
Love, Or Something Like It is a new series for Metro.co.uk covering everything from mating and dating to lust and loss, exploring what true love is and how we find it in the present day.
If you have a love story to share, email rosy.edwards@metro.co.uk
MORE: Banning men has taught me that I am enough
MORE: Single people can teach us all about relationships
MORE: I went on holiday with a Tinder match I’d known for a week
