Latest / The Breakup Club: Heartbreak, Healing & Starting Over / Why You Need To Keep Your Hobbies (Even If He Says It’s Not Fair) | The Breakup Club
Transcript
- He looked at me with this genuine, confused hurt and asked why I was so happy when I was painting instead of listening to his day. That moment didn’t feel like love; it felt like a boundary violation wrapped in disappointment. I want you to picture a scene that happened to me about three years ago. I had just finished a particularly difficult pottery class. My hands were covered in clay dust, my nose was smudged, and I felt this quiet, humming sense of accomplishment that I hadn’t felt in months. I walked into the kitchen, ready to share a small piece of that joy with my partner at the time. And what did he do? He sighed. A long, heavy, performative sigh. He said, 'You’re always gone somewhere else. Even when you’re here, you’re not really here.' And suddenly, my pottery wasn’t a hobby anymore. It was an escape. It was selfish. It was something I needed to apologize for. If you have ever felt guilty for enjoying something on your own, or if you’ve been told that your passion project is 'taking you away' from your relationship, I need you to pause whatever you are doing right now. Take a breath. Put your phone down if you can. Because we need to talk about how insidious it is when our partners try to absorb our individuality into the collective unit of 'us.' We live in a culture that romanticizes enmeshment. We think that if we love someone deeply, we should want to do everything together. We think that having separate interests means there’s a gap in the connection. But let me tell you something, and I’m going to say this with all the love and firmness I have: That is not love. That is codependency wearing a tuxedo. Let’s get real for a second. When we start dating someone new, especially in those early, electric months, we want to merge. We want to share playlists, watch the same shows, eat at the same restaurants, and speak the same language. It feels intoxicating. It feels like we’ve found our soulmate because they mirror our tastes so perfectly. But here is the trap. If you spend every waking hour mirroring another person, who are you when they leave the room? Who are you when they are sick, or traveling, or just need space? You become a reflection. And reflections are flat. They don’t have depth. They don’t have texture. I remember reading this concept in a book once, though I won’t bore you with the title, about the idea of 'interdependence' versus 'codependence.' Interdependence is two whole trees growing next to each other, their roots intertwined deep underground for support, but their branches reaching out into different directions to catch the sun independently. Codependence is one tree trying to grow inside the hollow of the other, choking both until neither gets enough light. Balancing individual hobbies with shared couple time isn’t about keeping secrets or hiding parts of yourself. It’s about maintaining your structural integrity. When you nurture your own interests, you bring back to the relationship a version of yourself that is curious, energized, and alive. You aren’t draining your partner dry by expecting them to be your only source of entertainment or validation. You are bringing them a gift. The gift of a woman who has a life outside of him. But why does this trigger people? Why does a man—or a woman—feel threatened when their partner picks up a guitar, joins a running club, or spends Saturday morning writing in a journal? Often, it comes down to insecurity masked as concern. If you are spending time apart, you are not thinking about them. And for some people, being thought about constantly feels like proof of love. It doesn’t. It feels like surveillance. I had a client, let’s call her Sarah, whose husband couldn’t understand why she wanted to take a weekend photography workshop alone. He said, 'We used to go on trips together. Now you’re going off to learn how to see the world without me?' And Sarah realized something profound. She wasn’t leaving him behind; she was expanding her capacity to see the world. And if he couldn’t handle that expansion, that wasn’t a problem with her hobby. That was a problem with his ego. When someone reacts negatively to your solo pursuits, ask yourself: Do they want me, or do they want my availability? There is a massive difference. Availability is a resource. It’s something you give. Love is a feeling. It’s something you share. You cannot share what you do not possess. If you have eroded your own identity to make your partner comfortable, you have nothing left to offer but compliance. And compliance is exhausting. It is a slow, silent death of the spirit. You are allowed to outgrow the expectation that you must be accessible twenty-four seven. You are allowed to close the door and turn off the notifications. You are allowed to be boring to everyone except yourself for an afternoon. So, how do we actually do this? How do we balance the 'we' with the 'me' without causing drama or sounding selfish? It starts with communication, but not the kind where you’re asking for permission. It starts with stating your needs as facts. Instead of saying, 'Is it okay if I go to yoga?' which invites negotiation and potential guilt-tripping, try saying, 'I have a yoga class tonight. I’ll be back around seven.' See the difference? One is a question that seeks approval. The other is a statement of intention. It assumes that your time is valuable. It assumes that your health matters. It assumes that you are a responsible adult who can manage their schedule. And if your partner pushes back, if they whine or guilt-trip you, that is data. That is information about their emotional maturity. I know it’s hard. I know that after years of being told that independence is cold or distant, asserting your need for space feels like stepping off a cliff. But you will land. And the ground beneath you will be solid. Start small. Take thirty minutes to read. Go for a walk without your phone. Cook a meal just for you. Notice how it feels to reclaim that time. Notice the quiet. Notice the lack of performance. You don’t have to entertain anyone. You don’t have to explain yourself. You just have to be. And in that stillness, you might find that you miss yourself more than you realize. Here is the beautiful paradox of healthy relationships. The more separate you are, the closer you can truly be. Think about it. When you come home from your pottery class, from your run, from your night out with friends, you have stories. You have insights. You have new perspectives. You are not just a vessel waiting to be filled by your partner’s opinions. You are a contributor. You bring color to the conversation. You bring energy. When you share your individual passions, you invite your partner into your inner world in a way that is authentic and unforced. It’s not a performance. It’s an invitation. And if they accept, wonderful. If they decline, also wonderful, because you still have your joy. You still have your outlet. You are not reliant on their presence for your happiness. This reduces the pressure on the relationship immensely. No one likes feeling like they are responsible for their partner’s entire emotional ecosystem. It’s too heavy. It’s too much. By keeping your hobbies, by keeping your separate identities, you lighten the load. You say, 'I am responsible for my joy. You are responsible for yours. Together, we amplify each other, but we do not complete each other.' That is a radical act of self-respect. It says that you are already whole. That you are choosing this person not because you need them to survive, but because you want to experience life with them. There is a huge difference between needing and wanting. Needing is fear-based. Wanting is desire-based. Desire is sexy. Fear is suffocating. Choose desire. Choose the hobby that makes you lose track of time. Choose the activity that reminds you who you were before you met them. Hold onto that person. They are worth saving. As we wrap up today, I want you to look at your calendar. Look at your commitments. How much of it is dedicated to 'us'? How much is dedicated to 'you'? If you’re honest, you might see an imbalance. And that’s okay. Awareness is the first step. You don’t have to overhaul your life overnight. You just have to make a promise to yourself. A promise that you will protect your time. You will protect your passions. You will not let anyone convince you that your joy is a distraction from love. Love is not a distraction. Love is a companion to your life. It walks beside you, but it does not carry you. It does not dictate your path. It does not demand you shrink so that it can fit comfortably. If you have to shrink, you will break. And you are not made to break. You are made to bloom. So go paint. Go run. Go write. Go dance. Go sit in silence and listen to music that no one else understands. Fill your cup so that you have something to pour into your relationship. But remember, the cup is yours. The water is yours. The thirst is yours. And no one can take that away from you unless you hand it over. Don’t hand it over. Keep it safe. Keep it growing. Because the most attractive thing you can be is a woman who is fully, fiercely, happily herself. Even when she’s alone. Especially when she’s alone. That is the secret. That is the power. And that is the foundation of any relationship that will actually last. Not because you’re clingy, but because you’re chosen. Every single day. By both of you. Independently. Together. Stronger. Take care of yourself, my friend. I’ll see you in the next one. Remember, you are never alone in this. I’m rooting for you. Always.