It Was Never Just the Coffee

There’s something about standing by that little yellow coffee van with a brew in your hand that makes you think a bit more than you probably planned to.

You come for a coffee.

You leave unpacking your life.

And lately, I’ve been thinking about breakups.

Not just the surface-level stuff either. Not the “plenty more fish” nonsense people throw at you like it fixes anything. I mean the real bit. The bit no one really talks about.

You don’t just lose the person.

You lose the version of yourself you were becoming with them.

I met someone recently, and for a while, it just felt… right. Easy. Natural. Like it landed without forcing it.

The laughs were effortless. The conversations flowed. It felt like we added to each other’s lives rather than taking anything away. And if I’m honest, it made me realise how long it had been since I’d felt like that.

Properly happy.

Not distracted. Not busy. Just… content.

And when you get a taste of that again after years of life doing its thing: kids, work, stress, responsibility… it hits different.

You start thinking, “this could be it.”

But life doesn’t always run on that script.

Things changed. Quickly.

And it wasn’t even the ending that got me the most, it was how it happened. The timing. The shift. The realisation that while I’d been showing up, supporting, trying to be steady… it wasn’t being felt or returned in the same way.

And that’s a hard one to sit with.

Because you start questioning things.

Was I too much? Not enough? Too steady? Not exciting enough?

Truth is, none of that really matters in the way you think it does at the time.

What hurts is the mismatch.

There’s also something else that doesn’t get spoken about enough, especially for men.

We’re told to just get on with it.

Go gym. Crack on. Get back out there. Don’t sit in it too long.

But sometimes you need to sit in it.

Because when something meant something, you don’t just brush it off like it didn’t happen. That’s not strength… that’s avoidance.

Strength is being able to say:

“That meant something to me. That made me happy. And yeah, losing it hurts.”

Standing by that van the other day, chatting nonsense one minute and then drifting into real talk the next, it hit me.

I’m not actually gutted because I “lost her.”

I’m gutted because I experienced something that reminded me what I want… and then it was gone.

And that leaves a bit of a gap.

But here’s the bit I’m holding onto.

If I felt it once, it exists.

That version of me, the one who was open, laughing, present, properly in it, that’s still there. That didn’t come from her. It came out of me.

And that means it can happen again.

Maybe differently. Maybe better. Maybe with someone who meets it the same way.

So yeah, I’m gutted.

But I’m also grateful.

Because not that long ago, I wasn’t even sure I could feel like that again.

Turns out, I can.

And that’s something worth holding onto.

If you’re reading this by the van, coffee in hand, going through something similar…

You’re not weak for feeling it.

You’re not behind.

You’re not “too much.”

You just cared.

And that’s never the wrong thing.

Now go on, finish your coffee before it goes cold.

Life’s still moving. So are you.