Tag: member-story

I can’t believe it’s been a month since everything went sideways. Just a month ago, I was planning my wedding, excited to say “I do” at 27. I had this whole life mapped out—dream wedding, loving husband, maybe kids down the line. But then, just two weeks before the big day, my fiancé dropped a bomb on me through an email, saying he “wasn’t feeling it anymore”. Seriously? That’s it? On email? Ending 7 years on email?? 2 weeks before our wedding? No explanations, no reasons—just a cold, hard “I’m out.” To top it off, he blocked me on everything. Social media, phone, email—you name it. One minute, we were planning our future; the next, he vanished like he never existed.

The first few days were a blur. I was in shock, just sitting there staring at my phone like it had the answers. I replayed that email a million times, searching for something—anything—that would explain what just happened. Did I miss the signs? Was I not the perfect fiancée? The questions kept swirling in my head, driving me crazy.

And then there were his friends and family. I thought maybe I could talk to them, figure out what went wrong, but nope. Every time I reached out, I was met with awkward silences and polite smiles that didn’t mean anything. It felt like everyone was in on a secret that I wasn’t part of. I wanted to scream, “What did I do wrong?!” but no one would answer.

The pain of rejection was like a punch to the gut. I felt like I was on this emotional rollercoaster—one minute I was crying my eyes out, and the next, I was just numb, going through the motions. Work? Forget it. I couldn’t focus on anything. My mind was a mess, constantly racing with thoughts like, “Will anyone love me again? Am I unlovable? What did I do to deserve this?”

As the weeks dragged on, the initial shock faded, replaced by this crushing anxiety that felt like a weight on my chest. Every time I saw a couple laughing or spotted a wedding dress in a store, I felt this wave of panic. I started spiraling into dark thoughts. What if I never find someone again? What if I never have kids? What if I’m just alone forever?

I’d always dreamed of a life filled with love and family, but now it felt like a cruel joke. I pictured myself sitting alone in a quiet house, and that thought terrified me. It was like my whole life plan had been erased, and I was left with nothing but a blank slate.

After a month of this emotional mess, I finally decided to take extended medical leave from work. I just couldn’t go in like this. The idea of being around my coworkers and pretending I was fine felt impossible. I needed time to heal, but each day felt like an eternity.

It wasn’t long before all this stress took its toll. I found myself on the edge of a breakdown. Tears came out of nowhere, and the anxiety felt like it was crushing me. I’d have moments where my heart raced, and I felt like I was spiraling. “What’s wrong with me? Why can’t I just get over this?”

Friends tried to help, but their well-meaning words often just made things worse. “You’ll find someone else,” they’d say. But how could they know? They hadn’t lived through this betrayal. Every time I saw happy couples, it felt like a stab in the heart. I wanted to be happy for them, but all I could think about was my own shattered dreams.

When I looked in the mirror, I barely recognized myself. The confident woman who was excited about her future was gone. Instead, I was left with a shell of doubt and insecurity. “Will I ever feel whole again?” I wondered. “Will I be the last single person left? What if I never have the family I’ve always wanted?”

As tough as it was, I knew I had to start somewhere. One day, I decided to write a letter—not to him, but to myself. I just let everything pour out onto the page: all the pain, anger, confusion. It felt good to get it out. For the first time in weeks, I felt a glimmer of hope, like maybe I could start to heal.

I began to take small steps to put my life back together. A friend suggested therapy, and even though I was hesitant, I figured, why not? Talking to someone helped me sort through my jumbled feelings. Slowly, I started to find pieces of myself again.

I also reached out to old friends I hadn’t talked to in a while. Reconnecting with them brought back laughter and comfort that I really needed. One night, I even went to a local meetup for singles. The thought of it made me anxious, but I knew I had to do something to reclaim my life.

As the month went on, I started to feel a little stronger. I realized that this whole experience, as painful as it was, could be a turning point for me. I began finding joy in little things again—taking walks, reading books, even cooking for myself.

Each day was still a challenge, but I was starting to reclaim my story. I understood that I was worthy of love—not just from someone else, but from myself too. And while the road ahead was still long, I was ready to embrace the unknown and rebuild my life, one small step at a time.

As I sit down to write this, I can’t help but feel that familiar ache in my chest—a feeling I’ve come to know all too well in my 30s. Ghosting has become a regular chapter in my dating life, and I find myself wrestling with this odd mix of confusion and sadness. It’s funny how, even though I’ve only been on a few dates with these guys, each time I get ghosted, it feels like a breakup. I’ve been at this long enough to know the drill, yet the emotional fallout always catches me off guard.

I remember the first time I really felt this sting. It was with Jake, a charming guy I met on a dating app. Our conversations flowed effortlessly, and our first date felt electric. We laughed over cocktails, sharing everything from our childhood dreams to our favorite Netflix shows. It felt so promising—so real.

After our date, I expected a text. I waited anxiously, picturing all the ways he might say he had a great time. But the hours turned into days, and soon I found myself staring at my phone in disbelief. Ghosted. Just like that, the spark we shared flickered out, leaving me with a heavy heart.

I started questioning everything. Was it something I said? Did I laugh too loudly? Was I too eager? It’s maddening how quickly my mind spiraled into self-doubt. I replayed our conversations like a movie, searching for clues. In the end, all I was left with was silence.

With Jake, I felt a real connection, but the ambiguity of ghosting felt like a betrayal. It’s as if he took a piece of my heart with him without even saying goodbye. Each time it happens, I try to tell myself it’s not personal, but that’s easier said than done. I know rationally that dating these days is complicated, with endless options out there. But that knowledge doesn’t make the emotional impact any lighter. Why do I still feel like there’s something unlovable about me?

These experiences just keep piling up. I had a similar situation with Mark, who I dated for a couple of weeks. We had a lovely afternoon at the art museum, discussing our favorite pieces, and it felt like I’d finally found someone who understood my creative side. We even made plans for another date. But after that last outing, the texts dwindled until they just stopped. I could practically hear the echo of our laughter fading, and I was left feeling hollow.

Each time someone ghosts me, I try to shake it off, but it’s tough. I want to believe that it’s not about me, but that’s easier said than done. I start to wonder what I could have done differently. Should I have played it cooler? Should I have waited longer to text? The “what-ifs” began to spiral, and the emotional pain felt like a breakup, even though I knew we hadn’t officially labeled what we had.

In today’s fast-paced digital world, it feels like everyone is dating multiple people at once. I’ve had friends who’ve encountered the same thing. We joke about it being like a buffet where no one is willing to commit to a single dish. The irony isn’t lost on me—while we swipe right and left, we also end up swiping away the emotional connections we form.

I met Alex on a dating app, and we clicked right away. Our first date was filled with chemistry, and I thought this could finally be something real. We spent hours talking and connecting over shared interests. We even joked about how refreshing it was to find someone who still believed in love amidst the chaos of online dating. But just as quickly as it began, it ended. After a few dates, he simply vanished.

I remember how my heart sank when I realized he wasn’t responding to my messages. The emotional pain felt like a breakup, even though I knew we hadn’t officially labeled our connection. The ghosting left me feeling vulnerable and rejected, as if I had lost a piece of myself. I found myself scrolling through our texts, seeking some kind of answer, trying to piece together what had gone wrong.

These experiences have created a cycle of rejection that feels never-ending. Each ghosting incident leaves me more wary and cautious, yet I know I need to keep putting myself out there. I want love; I crave that connection. But every time I go on a date, I’m haunted by the possibility of being ghosted again.

One night, I went out with Ryan. We met at a friend’s gathering, and the chemistry was undeniable. We laughed and flirted as if we’d known each other for years. After a few drinks, we exchanged numbers, both excited about the prospect of a second date. But when I texted him later that week, he didn’t respond. Days turned into a week, and I finally accepted the truth: he was gone.

It’s funny how the mind works. I started to wonder what I could have done differently. Should I have played it cooler? Should I have waited longer to text him? The “what-ifs” began to spiral, and I felt that familiar mix of frustration and heartache.

In these moments of vulnerability, I find myself longing for closure—a simple acknowledgment that things didn’t work out. But the ghosting phenomenon makes closure elusive. Instead, I’m left piecing together my feelings while grappling with the unsettling question: What’s wrong with me?

Am I too needy? Too intense? Or am I just a casualty of a dating landscape that favors the transient over the meaningful? It’s hard to shake the feeling that perhaps I’m not enough—enough to hold someone’s attention, enough to warrant a conversation, or even enough to be loved. Each ghosting incident chips away at my confidence, leading me to question my worth.

But as I navigate this dating landscape, I’ve started to realize something important: these experiences, while painful, don’t define me. I’m not unlovable; I’m human, and I deserve love and connection just like anyone else. It’s easy to internalize the rejection, but I’m learning to recognize it as a reflection of the other person’s journey, not a comment on my value.

I’ve started to focus on what I can control—my emotional responses and how I treat myself after being ghosted. I remind myself that it’s okay to grieve the loss of potential. Each connection, no matter how brief, has its own significance, and it’s essential to honor those feelings rather than suppress them.

So here I am, still dating in my 30s, still navigating the messy world of modern romance. I know I’ll face more ghosting; it’s just part of the deal now. But I also know that I won’t let it dictate my self-worth. I’ll keep seeking connections, holding space for the potential that exists in each encounter.

The journey isn’t easy, but it’s mine. While I might face heartache along the way, I’m also learning resilience and the importance of self-love. Ghosting may feel like a breakup, but it won’t break me. Each experience brings me one step closer to finding the love I deserve.

I never thought my life would end up like this. I’m in my mid-30s, married for 15 years, with three kids under 10. I used to think love was all that mattered, but now it feels so far away. I have broken up with my husband but only I know about the breakup.

For months, I had this feeling in my gut that something was off. It started small. My husband, who used to rush home to see us, started coming home late from work. At first, I told myself he was just busy. But then he started spending more and more time on his phone. I’d sit there, feeling this knot in my stomach, wondering who he was texting.

One night, I asked him if he wanted to watch a movie with me after the kids went to bed. He said he was too tired and went to bed early. That was so unlike him. He was always tired. And he always had an excuse. I stayed up alone most nights. It was like I was watching our marriage slip away, and I didn’t know how to stop it.

I remember one weekend, we went out as a family. He kept checking his phone, stepping away to take calls. It drove me crazy. I thought maybe it was work, but my heart felt heavy. I tried to push it away. I kept hoping he’d come back to me, but he seemed so far away.

Then there was our anniversary. I spent weeks planning a nice dinner. He came home late that night. He had forgotten about it, or pretended to forget. I will never know. I cried that night, feeling so alone. I wanted to believe he loved me, but knew something had changed. I felt like I was losing him, but I didn’t know how to fight for him when he seemed so distant.

As time went on, I became even more depressed. I’d wake up hoping today would be different. But then I’d catch him in little lies about where he was or who he was with. Each small lie felt like a stone in my heart, making it heavier and heavier. I felt trapped, waiting for something bad to happen. It was like living in a fog, with fear following me around every day.

When he started going out more with friends after work, I felt crushed. I noticed he was buying new clothes and new perfume. I wanted to confront him, to scream and ask what was going on, but was too scared. Instead, I put on my mask, pretending everything was okay. Inside, I was falling apart.

Those months of suspicion were painful. I felt so lonely, like I was fighting this battle all by myself. I had no one to talk to. I had spent the last 15 years of my life being mon and wife and had drifted apart from my high school friends. Moms at my kids schools were aquaintances, not friends. I also had no proof. So I kept quiet, feeling the stress build up until it felt like too much to bear. Nights were the worst. I’d lie awake, crying into my pillow, wishing it was all just a bad dream.

Then came the day that shattered everything. He said he was going out of town on a business trip but I saw the receipt to a hotel in town. He was having an affair, My heart sank, I felt like dying. All those months of doubt and pain hit me like a tsunami. My worst fears were true, and it hurt more than I can explain.

Now I’m left with this unbearable pain. I know I need to leave him, but I have to pretend everything is fine until I have an exit plan. I am fully dependent on him financially. Each day is a struggle. I smile and act like nothing is wrong when he’s around, but as soon as he leaves, I break down. The kids are so innocent, and I want to protect them from this mess, but I can’t keep pretending forever. I want to leave but I don’t even know where to start. In my heart, I have broken up with my husband but haven’t told him yet.

The pain is like a heavy weight on my chest. I feel like I’m grieving not just the man I loved, but the life we built together. I keep remembering the good times. It’s all gone now, replaced by lies and heartbreak. I think about how we used to talk about our future, and it feels like a cruel joke.

Every day is a mix of sadness and rage and doubt. How will I get out of this situation when I’ve never had to survive on my own. I dream about what it would be like to be free from this pain, to wake up without this heavy feeling in my heart. I want to find happiness again, even if it feels impossible right now. I know I deserve better than a life filled with lies, but I’m scared to start over. But I do need to start over and move away from this liar.

I also think about my kids and feel guilt. They love their dad, and I don’t want to hurt them. Yet I also know I can’t stay in this broken marriage.

This is my life now—planning my exit while pretending everything is fine. I hope that one day I can look back on this time as a chapter that made me stronger. Until then, I’ll keep moving forward, one painful step at a time, hoping for a brighter future.

Hey there, friends! So, let’s chat about this whole “living life” thing. You ever feel like you’re just kind of coasting along, no real expectations for what’s next? That’s me, pretty much. I’m out here doing the dating dance—swiping left, swiping right, you name it. But honestly? It rarely leads anywhere.

I watch my friends and family dive into relationships, get hitched, and celebrate all these milestones that I sometimes think I’ll never experience. Don’t get me wrong; I’m happy for them, but there’s that little voice in the back of my mind asking, “What’s wrong with me?” It’s tough, especially when it feels like everyone else is cruising through life while I’m just… hanging on.

Then there’s the whole housing situation. Let’s talk about how crazy expensive it is to buy a home these days. I mean, I’m just one income trying to make ends meet, and it feels impossible to get a foot in the door. So, I’m stuck in this rental, hoping that someday I’ll figure it out. Meanwhile, everyone else is posting their cute home updates on social media, and I’m over here feeling like I’m doing something wrong.

What gets me, though, is how people look at me sometimes. There’s this mixture of pity and judgment that I can’t quite shake off. It’s like, I’m not a failure, I’m just living my life the way I can. Yet, the moment someone needs a favor or a hand with something, guess who they come running to? Yep, it’s me, the single friend with no kids or partner. “Hey, can you help me with this?” or “Do you want to watch my kids for the weekend?” I mean, I love helping out, but it’s wild how that’s the narrative, being single means you have all this time and energy to spare.

Traveling is another tricky one. I’d love to explore the world, but coordinating with friends can be a hassle. Plans fall through, or someone bails last minute, and I’m left feeling like I missed out again. I’ve gone solo a couple of times, but it’s just not the same when you’re not sharing those moments with someone.

And then there’s that nagging question that hangs over me like a cloud: “Why haven’t I found the one” I see it in my friends’ eyes when they ask why I’m still single, or hear it in the comments that come from well-meaning family members. It stings, you know?

What no one realises is that a relationship of 9 years ended in my mid 20’s and I do not wish to revisit, nor relive the pain. If there is a chance the relationship might end, I end it first, and end it early. This works for me.

I’m learning to embrace this phase of my life. Sure, I might not have the typical milestones lined up, but I have my own adventures. I’m learning to appreciate the little wins, the freedom that comes with being single, and the unique experiences that come my way. I may not fit into the mold everyone else seems to be following, but I’m figuring out my own path, one day at a time.

So if you’re feeling the same way, just know you’re not alone. Life might not look how we expected, but there’s beauty in the unexpected, too. Let’s keep floating along and finding our own joy in this wild ride!

I need to share my story because I finally feel like I’m waking up from a long nightmare. I’ve been in a relationship with a guy I knew I was settling for, and let me tell you, it was a wild ride.

So, I’m in my early 40s, and I really wanted a child. When I met him, I thought he could be the one. He was charming enough, and I ignored the red flags—like how he wasn’t exactly the most ambitious guy and, honestly, not the best-looking either. I convinced myself that love was about more than looks and I didn’t want my successful career to be the reason I would miss out on being a wife and a mum.

Fast forward a bit, he moved in and reality set in. He stopped contributing to anything. Rent, bills, you name it. He was fired from his job 6 weeks after moving in and didn’t bother looking for another. I was busting my butt at work while he lounged around, making excuses for why he couldn’t find a job. I kept thinking maybe he just needed a little push, you know? Like, if I loved him enough, he’d get it together.

But it got worse. He’d take me shopping and ask for expensive stuff, like a Samsonite laptop bag, while he didn’t even have a job! I felt so pressured to buy him things; it was like a test to see how far I’d go. I’d try to justify it, thinking he just needed some motivation.

And let’s talk about his friends. They’d come over as “house guests” and basically never leave. They treated me poorly, making jokes at my expense while expecting me to buy their drinks at the pub. It felt like I was running a hotel for freeloaders. I started feeling like a stranger in my own home, catering to people who had zero respect for me.

But the worst part? He was hiding his few belongings from me, like he was some kind of secret hoarder. Kitchen tools and basic stuff were off-limits, as if anything he deemed “his” was sacred. Meanwhile, I was the one working hard to keep everything afloat.

Then came the final straw. I found out he was using the internet I paid for to go on dating sites. Yup, while I was working my ass off, he was swiping away, telling his friends I was the crazy one when I’d get upset about feeling used. I felt so sick to my stomach.

Breaking up with him was one of the hardest things I’ve ever done. I cried a lot because I felt like I was losing the dream and the “last chance” to be a mum. But deep down, I knew I had to do it. I deserve better than this. I deserve someone who appreciates me, not someone who just takes.

Now, I’m in the process of rebuilding my life, and it’s both scary and exciting. I’ve learned that I can’t depend on anyone who doesn’t respect me or contribute to my happiness. I’m focusing on loving myself more and figuring out what I truly want without the burden of someone who just leeches off me.

So, if you’re in a similar situation, please remember: you deserve so much better than to settle. Your worth isn’t defined by what someone else thinks of you, and there’s nothing wrong with wanting more. Here’s to new beginnings and a future that’s all mine!

Tomorrow, I’m off to a sperm bank. I will be a mum!

I’ve always been the kind of woman who believed in love, fairy tale love. But after a string of failed relationships throughout my twenties and into my thirties, I found myself wondering if I’d ever get that storybook ending. At 35, I was beginning to come to terms with the fact that I might be destined for a different path. That was until I met John.

John is my friend’s brother, a handsome man with a charming smile and an impressive job as an executive at a large firm. The moment I laid eyes on him at a barbeque, it was like a light bulb went off. He was everything I thought I wanted, confident, witty, and successful. Little did I know that the connection I felt was a one-way street.

At first, I brushed off my feelings. After all, I was the queen of unrequited love. But the more I saw him, the deeper I fell into my fantasy world. I started weaving elaborate daydreams where John and I were the perfect couple. I envisioned him picking me up after work, before we headed out to a cozy dinner. In my mind, we shared everything from late-night conversations to weekend getaways. I lived for these moments, constructing our “relationship” in vivid detail, even if it existed solely in my head.

Two years flew by in this surreal haze. I created scenarios that played out like scenes from a rom-com. I could practically feel the warmth of his hand in mine as we strolled through the park. John consumed my thoughts and was with me every minute of every day. Every lunch break, every gym session, my mind drifted back to him. I thought about what our future would look like, how he’d propose, and the family we’d have together.

Then came the fateful day at the Christmas markets. I was browsing through the stalls, caught up in the vibrant atmosphere, when I spotted him. My heart skipped a beat. But as I approached, the world around me slowed. There he was, holding hands with a stunning woman. A wave of nausea washed over me as reality crashed in. He smiled at me, genuine and warm, as if we were old friends. “Hey! I’m getting married in two months!” he announced casually, his fiancée beaming by his side.

I felt the ground beneath me shift. The facade I’d built crumbled into dust. I forced a smile and managed a weak “Congratulations,” but inside, I was screaming. The two years of fantasy and longing exploded into anger, sadness, betrayal. How could I mourn someone who had never been mine?

The aftermath was a rollercoaster ride I never signed up for. I went through every stage of grief as if John had really been a part of my life. I cried, yelled, and buried myself in self-doubt. “What was wrong with me?” became a mantra I repeated daily. I tried to distract myself with a few rebound one-night stands, seeking solace in fleeting connections, only to find they left me emptier than before.

My friends didn’t know, how could I tell them I’d been having an imaginary relationship with someone they all know. I felt ridiculous for mourning a relationship that had only existed in my imagination. Yet, there I was, heartbroken over a man I’d never even shared a real conversation with.

Over time, I began to pick up the pieces. I realized that the love I felt for John wasn’t about him; it was about my longing for connection and the fear of being alone. I had built a fantasy to protect myself from the vulnerabilities of real relationships, but in doing so, I had also isolated myself.

As the months passed, I slowly found clarity. I learned to embrace the rawness of my feelings instead of running from them. I started to reconnect with the parts of myself I had neglected, focusing on my passions and friendships. The illusion of John faded into a lesson about self-love and the importance of authenticity in relationships.

I may have lost my fantasy, but in the process, I found a deeper understanding of what it means to truly connect with someone. Love doesn’t always fit the fairy tale mould, and that’s okay. I’m learning to appreciate the messy, beautiful journey of life, one day at a time.

I’m also checking out the apps that promise an attentive AI boyfriend !

My Breakup Journey

I met Jake at high school, where teenage crushes were everywhere. We were your classic high school sweethearts, bonding over classes, mutual friends, and late-night texts about our dreams.

At first, our romance was full of cute gestures—funny memes sent during class, sweet messages, laughter and kisses. Weekends were spent binge-watching shows, going to school dances, and hanging out at local spots, making memories I’d always treasure.

I still remember that picnic Jake surprised me with, complete with my favorite sandwiches and cupcakes he made from scratch. Those simple moments really captured the essence of our love—passionate yet tender. Our experiences shaped who we were, making our bond a huge part of our lives.

Through the ups and downs of high school, our relationship felt like a safe haven in all the teenage chaos. We supported each other through school stress, family drama, and all the social ups and downs. It wasn’t just a phase; it was a meaningful chapter filled with the sweetness of first love.

As we grew up, the carefree vibe of our relationship started to shift. Adult responsibilities crept in. Jake, who used to be ambitious and driven, started to change. He got into gambling, which messed with his finances and led to some sketchy choices.

What really hurt was how he started preying on vulnerable people. He’d buy cars that had issues, fix them up just enough to hide the problems, and then sell them to unsuspecting buyers—regular folks and first-time car buyers—making a decent profit. It wasn’t just cheating on his taxes; he was ripping off families who were just trying to get a reliable vehicle. The traits I once loved were now overshadowed by this troubling behavior, leaving me confused and disillusioned.

I felt torn between the guy I fell for and the one making choices that clashed with my values. I began questioning our future together, wondering if our love could survive these changes. With all this pressure on me, I hit a crossroads and had to face the tough truth about our relationship.

I found myself in a tough spot, feeling deep love for Jake while grappling with serious ethical concerns about his behavior. The excitement that once filled our relationship was being overshadowed by issues I couldn’t ignore. His dishonesty, especially towards people who trusted him, raised major red flags that I had previously overlooked.

This wasn’t just a passing thought; it became a constant worry. On one hand, I cherished our good times. On the other, the growing gap in our values made me question what we had built together. Each dishonest act felt like a betrayal, and a threat to the dream life I had built in my mind with Jake.

Talking to friends didn’t help much; their opinions only added to my stress. Some said to stick around and help Jake improve, while others stressed the importance of self-respect. Caught between these conflicting views, I stood at a major decision point, unable to ignore the ethical issues overshadowing the love I once cherished.

Breaking up with Jake truly shattered me. I felt completely broken. The sadness hit me hard; I couldn’t eat or sleep, and everywhere I looked reminded me of him. We had grown up together, gone to the same school, and frequented the same neighborhoods, so every street, every corner, felt like a piece of him was still there. It was suffocating.

I struggled to figure out who I was as a single person, separate from being Jake’s girlfriend. It felt like I had lost a part of myself. Familiar routines now felt heavy with memories, making it hard to breathe. The emotional rollercoaster of anger, regret, and sorrow was relentless.

As I navigated through my feelings, I experienced all the stages of grief. Some days were better than others, but I learned that healing takes time. This journey pushed me to reevaluate my needs and who I was outside of my relationship. Setting boundaries and prioritizing my well-being became key parts of my healing process.

Over time, I found comfort in journaling, hanging out with friends, and I took up hiking. These activities helped me process my emotions and rediscover myself. I learned that pain could be transformed into creativity and personal growth. Ultimately, my heartbreak turned into a journey filled with lessons about love, loss, and the strength it takes to heal.

It’s now 15 months since we broke up. I’ve had a rebound relationship which lasted 3 months and helped take my mind off Jake. I am almost healed. Well 90% of the time, I am healed. But all it takes is for our song to play on the car radio, the smell of cupcakes or a message from my cousin, also called Jake, and nostalgia kicks in. It’s no longer a massive punch to the stomach. I could go on for a week without thinking about Jake. Now that’s progress.