I can see his new life – through the window

Dear Meredith/Love Letters,

I'm writing to you from "down under" (Australia). I'd like to thank you for your podcast and writing.

My query is this: my partnership of five years came to an end in January of this year. He's in his early 50s, I'm in my late 40s, and we have no children (but do have dogs). We'd been going through ups and downs, including at least six months of on-again, off-again and "not quite off" separation.

We'd separated because, try as I might, it felt like I was the only one who ever put the effort in to communicate and talk through issues. He'd lost his mum when he was young, and although he seems to have it all together, beneath that surface he is a needy teenager who wants to be mothered and in particular, wants sex. I felt so weighed down by his never-ending need for love and affection. It seemed like no matter what I did, it was never enough. Plus, I did everything for us. I am a very, very busy academic and need caring too. Although I love being a nurturer, it wasn't equal.

About a year ago, I lost both of my parents very suddenly, had to pack up and sell the family home, and I also changed jobs amid the turmoil. Throughout this process, I had to step back from him because his focus still seemed to be on what he needed, and he seemed upset that I wasn't mourning by giving him attention. Long story short, while I still loved him, I ultimately felt drained.

He also tended to be secretive. It was worse when we first got together – unbeknownst to me, he was seeing someone else at that time but shored up the relationship with me before jumping ship. This past summer (your winter is our summer), when we were on again for the holidays – at his request – I said, "Please don't see anyone else while we're spending this time together. We need to work out what we're doing." He swore he wasn't, and was even continuing to ask me if we could get back together properly and make a go of it; however, turns out that he was seeing someone else. By the end of January, before I knew about the latter, I dug deep, really thought about the future, and opened my heart, saying, "OK, let's really do this, let's do whatever it takes to get this relationship on track." After sleeping with me, his response was essentially to ghost me. Just like that. After five years. Presumably, sex was a last hurrah for him and now he's jumped ship to the new partner. I was left blinking, shattered, completely heartbroken.

Put simply, I have been eviscerated by this. I've done everything logical: accepted it is over, made lists of all the reasons I was not ultimately happy, tried to fill the enormous gaps in my social life, etc. The problem is, his holiday home is directly behind my home. The back of my home is comprised of large windows, and so is his. Our homes look directly into one another's, and although I am doing everything I can to just accept this situation, repair, and move on, at any moment he could turn up with his new partner. This situation is literally on display, like a cruel scene from "Clockwork Orange" – like I'm being forced to watch it. I have spent thousands of dollars trying to build my rear fence up to create privacy, but our homes are both two-story and the entirety of his living quarters upstairs are lit up – my bedroom looks into it. It is as though he is lighting up his new life and making me watch. I feel so deeply hurt and betrayed. Whenever he turns up (which is always an unknown to me because we do not speak at all now), I do not go outside to my backyard, and I close off the entire back of my home with curtains and closed doors. I honestly feel that if I did not have to deal with this torture, I could heal and eventually move on. However, this weekly "surprise visit" sends me spiraling.

We also live at the beach, so when I go out for a run I feel as though I’m jumping at shadows – they could be anywhere. All of this seems to be surfacing as I am also wrangling with the reality of being a woman in her late 40s who has no children and who, while fit and accomplished and (I think) attractive, is going through the process of turning somewhat invisible. How do I genuinely accept the reality of this situation and still manage to heal and rise above?

– Spiraling