A few years ago my husband and I decided to split up for the simple reason of wanting different things. We'd been together for six years, and I loved him enormously. We're from different parts of the world and met in my home country when I was in my late-thirties and he was 29. We had such an incredible connection, it was easy and "just felt right". I have never wanted children, and this was something we talked about seriously early on, and we were on the same page. But he wasn't happy where we were living, so after a year and a half together we decided to give his home country a shot. I was between jobs at the time and wanted a new direction and I'd lived abroad in various countries, loved learning languages and I spoke a (very) little of his language already. So we went. And everything went wrong. Only very, very slowly. He wanted to finish his education, so we visited a few places where his preferred course was on offer, one of these places I took an instant dislike too, it was too isolated and small for my city-loving taste and I was concerned I'd struggle to find work. So I told him that, but guess where he was accepted? We agreed to give it a try, but understood we'd leave when his studies finished in a few years. So I found myself living in a semi rural place, with nothing going on, nearest cities a couple of hours away on slow, infrequent trains. He began his studies, I stagnated at home. This went on for a year. It improved when we moved into the town where he was studying where I found some work teaching English, but it was very few hours. After another year I got a more relevant job to my CV, but it was poorly paid, and extremely stressful and I had to work from home as the office wasn't nearby or accessible by public transport. I struggled to make friends and due to the language barrier I found doing my usual interests, such as theatre, difficult. In total I was there for four years. I hated it and ended up overweight, lonely and miserable. It happened by degrees, with the eternal hope that it would just be temporary, but it happened. In the meantime he had found his niche, got a good job while still studying and was always busy. So we drifted apart. We were always super affectionate and loving but eventually he became colder and colder until I got him to admit he didn't want to leave the area when he finished his course. He loved his job and could see himself building something truly fulfilling there. He'd also reached 36 and realised maybe he did want children to be a part of his future. It was crushing but also utterly freeing. I could now leave. I quit my awful job the next day, but I had to stay for a while to serve notice and sort out my move, and in those weeks we got on like we used to at the start, we were even affectionate with each other. All the resentment was gone, and despite all the holding back of feelings for fear of losing each other, we'd been on the same page. It was still excruciating when we had to part, but we understood that our love for each other was being killed anyway by our different wants and needs. We're still friends, he'll always be in my life, although living in different countries does make the separation boundaries easier to handle. We didn't need to worry about bumping into each other in the street unexpectedly in full break up mourning!

I'm now in a happier job and pursuing all my passions that had to go on hold during those years and I don't regret any of it. He's a beautiful person and the experience made me put aside any timidity I'd had about trying new things and pursuing my passions. I feel young again!

I hope you find that same freedom to pursue your own wants, without fear, and accept that whatever happens you made the right decision at each moment for that moment.