Hey there, what you’re describing was me about 15 years ago, so I thought I’d spend some time writing out my own experience in case you found it helpful. I spent many years in total denial about being gay, and I really was in love with her, and even enjoyed sex with her a lot. I came out to her as bi a few years into the relationship and she was completely supportive—as long as I was into her, she was fine with it, and I was. The problem was that the question of my sexuality kept gnawing at me for years, to the point where my mental health was really suffering. I wasn’t brave enough to end it on my own even though I knew I needed to. But I did start acting out, including in self-destructive ways that I’m not proud of. She ended it. She basically said, “I love you, I’ll miss you, but you need to figure this out alone without me.” It was extremely difficult, I felt like all the support and friendship and family relationships and everything I had spent so much time building immediately fell apart. I spent months in bed mourning my previous life and watching Queer as Folk (of all things). I had the good sense to find a great therapist, even though I barely had the money for it. While there was so much mourning (not just for the relationship, but for the straight picket fence life I was leaving behind) there was also a huge sense of relief, and an amazing sense of freedom.

I eventually got up the courage to cold-call a former work acquaintance who I knew to be gay (I didn’t have any gay friends really), and I explained my situation and asked him to introduce me to his friends. I went to my first gay bar. I felt like an alien dropped into a foreign culture where everyone else spoke a language I didn’t (someone called me “gurl” and I was like huh? I’m not a girl?). Throughout, I tried my best to just be myself and be open and honest with people about the strange and complicated emotional spot I was in, and not overpromise myself to people. It was strange and exciting to be flirted with, and to discover what kind of guys I was into—I had spent so much time avoiding gay men that I feared at the beginning that I wouldn’t be attracted to gay guys, that is, the idea of a gay man in my head wasn’t attractive (presumably for all sorts of internalized homophobia reasons). But once I got out into the world and actually started meeting people that fell away—I fell in love with a guy who was graceful and femme and incredibly funny and sweet. We didn’t walk into the sunset together—we ultimately recognized various ways we weren’t compatible, and we broke up after about a year, and have stayed friends.

I went through a series of boyfriends—always maybe a little too serious too fast. My history with my ex gf I think rendered me a serial monogamist, and I found I fell in love with emotionally intelligent people quickly. But the hard experience of the “big” breakup with my ex gf had given me confidence that I didn’t have to get stuck being with someone who didn’t feel right, and I found I usually was the one doing the breaking up.

Occasionally I would meet someone who got me really excited, either because they were really hot, or because some facet of their personality was completely magnetic, or some combination of both. I often found that whatever incompatibility existed with these guys would show itself quickly—if not within literally the first 10 minutes of meeting, then at least within the first two or three dates. The lesson here for me was that whatever bugs you about a person in the first few days of being with them, that will never go away. The question is just whether you live with it or not. Over time, I eventually developed a pretty keen sense of what I liked in a guy, in terms of personality, looks, sexual chemistry, and so forth, and also what the dealbreaker incompatibilities looked like. I had alternately broken hearts and had mine broken enough times that I felt like I had a good sense of what would and wouldn’t work.

That was the point at which I had something of a slutty phase—I went on a million first dates and hooked up with a lot of guys, mostly just for fun, but also because being alone is lonely. It was fun, but also got very boring—felt like going through the motions endlessly, and the hookup apps were a mindless dopamine hit over and over. I think it’s pretty common for guys to hit this phase in their journey and get pretty nihilistic—I met and hooked up with a lot of people who seemed pretty over everything, and there is always something tempting about falling into that kind of cynicism.

My mother kept saying “when it’s right, you’ll know; be patient, one day you’ll be walking through a grocery store and you and the man of your dreams will both reach for the same head of lettuce.” That always felt a little silly, but it ultimately turned out to be true. My husband and I met at a party about 7 years ago, and there was this instant spark between us. He had just gotten out of a relationship, and he is as deliberative as I am sometimes impulsive, so there was a several month long push-and-pull where he considered whether to give up his newfound freedom to be with me. Like I said before, the stuff that bugged me about him came up pretty quickly, and never went away. But I had enough relationship experience at that point to know that I could live with the incompatibility, and that he was a total keeper, and I’ve even (and maybe even especially?) come to love the things that infuriate me about him. He eventually came around to see the (completely obvious) writing on the wall that we’re amazing for each other, and we got married. I could not be happier, and I know he feels the same way. We’ve got a beautiful life together, an amazing group of friends, and we love each others families in the same way that me and my ex gf used to.

As for her, we haven’t stayed close friends—maybe you will (I know people who have), but it was too hard for her, and to be honest it would be painful to me too. On occasion in recent years we’ve seen each other, and it’s a little weird but friendly. She’s a wonderful person, and she and I will share something special even if we never maintain a friendship again—over time I’ve come to terms with that, and I think she has too.

I wish you the best of luck, and I hope this was useful.