No one starts a relationship with the intention of ending it, and there is no guarantee that any relationship will last forever. We meet, we get introduced, we flirt, we date, and we supposedly try to get to know each other. In all these defined stages, we mainly pay attention to how we feel. Yet we can never truly know someone, and we never will, because human beings are not stable—they are variable, shifting, unpredictable. We change, we influence, we adapt to the environment, we try to adjust, and when a new environment forms, we try to adapt again. Humans are made of emotions and thoughts, and we live by trying to balance the rises and falls of these emotions. In other words, we spend life trying to balance both ourselves and the person in front of us, keeping up with them for a certain period of time. We try to adapt to the changes in our bodies, hormonal shifts, time, the people around us, their environment, and both our internal and external worlds. Even the most stable of us can sometimes become unstable and feel the need for change and variability.
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Relationships, unless disrupted by an unusual circumstance, begin with passion; passion turns into attachment; attachment sometimes transforms into dependency, sometimes into habit, sometimes into obligation, or takes shape according to cultural or traditional pressures.
A relationship is a complex structure—and this structure forms over time by building upon itself, strengthening, adding layers. Because relationships are formed by humans, relationships, too, are dynamic and fluid, not static.
Every relationship undergoes change over a certain process, its dynamics shift, its structure transforms, and it becomes difficult for individuals to adapt to the structure they themselves have created. In other words, experiencing the reflections of one’s own self can be challenging.
In fact, let alone living through it—enduring it becomes difficult. As relationships grow more intimate, we begin to see ourselves; we witness ourselves. While we may think that we cannot tolerate the other person, sometimes what we truly cannot tolerate is ourselves—our own reality—and we begin to project this disliked part outward. In the reflections and projections exchanged, we encounter our own self, and after meeting this reflected self, we begin to alienate from ourselves. This confuses our minds and pushes us into chaos. The more chaos we experience, the more blame-oriented we become.
We often focus on how to achieve a happy marriage, but what about how to achieve a peaceful separation? Because we dislike unhappy endings, we avoid thinking about their nature. Yet people's minds become far more confused during separation or divorce than during marriage, and they tend to become more depressed. Why do we not know how to separate? Why do we insist on something that doesn’t exist or will not work? Why do we not know how to let go—or accept being left? Why do we act as if a relationship must continue indefinitely? Why does the fear of abandonment dominate our lives? And in extreme cases, why can someone go as far as self-destruction after being left? Why must separation be so painful?
The foundation for how we cope with separation and the intensity of our reactions must be sought in the earliest mother–infant relationship. A mother teaches the infant how to relate, how to build connection, how to soothe, and she lends the infant psychological protections the child does not yet possess. We learn safety, nourishment, need fulfillment, tolerance of frustration, expression of emotions, crying, thinking, and emotional regulation from our mothers. A good mother also teaches the child how to separate—and this is what truly matters. The first object for a baby, the mother, has vital importance. She is the one who comes when the baby cries, feeds when hungry, meets needs on time and appropriately, and teaches how to regulate life. In a healthy mother–child relationship, individuals grow into adults who know how to feel sadness and how to mourn and accept when necessary. Those who never learned to feel sadness, who never learned to mourn or express emotions, tend to avoid these feelings—but respond intensely when faced with separation. For them, separation is equal to death. Separation is perceived as a final end, a disappearance. Separation or abandonment means damage to the self and injury to the ego. Of course, no one enjoys being abandoned, and coping with it is difficult. But struggling with it is one thing—perceiving it as a life-threatening event is another, and the latter is unhealthy.
Therefore, success in handling separation depends on how the foundations of the relationship were formed, what meanings were attributed to it, and the intensity of childish needs and unmet emotional demands. Those who can separate, mourn, and move on are the ones who continue life in a healthy way. Those who cannot mourn replace grief with substitute partners, postponing the mourning process indefinitely. But mourning is sometimes unavoidable.
