Romanticizing Past Connections Serves a Surprising Purpose

Ever entertain the fantasy of The One Who Got Away? Here’s why.

If I’m honest, I’ve always been a dreamer. Daydreams helped me get through the boring aspects of life — the dull classes, the endless routine of chores, and the painfully tedious meetings that could have been emails. When a relationship took years to break down, my mind gave me dreams most nights in the form of epic romantic fantasies. I could close my eyes, and in that dream place, I was loved, cherished, fought for, and seen. I held onto those dreams during the day — knowing they weren’t real but clinging to any sliver of romance or hope to dull the sting of reality.

Romanticizing past connections serves a similar purpose. As long as I could hold onto a fantasy, I didn’t feel as alone, and I didn’t have to face the fact that the love I had hoped for had turned out to be a massive, painful disappointment. As long as I could nurture a fantasy, no matter how unrealistic, I could protect myself from the harsh truth.

But one day, the romantic fantasy just died. I couldn’t suspend disbelief long enough to entertain it. I couldn’t hold out hope of it being anything more than what it was. And what it was, was over. Done. Finished entirely.

As long as I could nurture a fantasy, no matter how unrealistic, I could protect myself from the harsh truth.

It’s interesting that it took me so long to stop romanticizing it. It’s understandable, really, given my lackluster history of relationships. But I have a creative mind and a voracious appetite for books. I can suspend disbelief and dive into fantastical stories — but I couldn’t believe there was a world in which the person I had lost would ever love me again. I couldn’t entertain it. Even my creativity balked at the attempt.

And I miss it. It’s ridiculous, I know, but I miss the ability to believe in what I thought we had. I miss being able to romanticize it and tell myself that it mattered to him as much as it did to me.

I miss the fantasy because in its absence I’m left with the truth.

I’ve never been loved the way that I deserve — the way that we all deserve. If anything, I’ve been cared about at first and later tolerated. It’s not a pretty truth. It doesn’t feel good to own, but the only true love I’ve ever had has come from platonic relationships, family, and pets — never from romantic connections.

Holding onto the idea of a past relationship insulated me from feeling hurt. If I could romanticize it, I wouldn’t feel the full brunt of the rejection. It also made the pain of loss easier to process in some ways.

I’ve read that the harm caused by acts of commission is easier to face than the ones caused by acts of omission. Here’s why that matters. The emotionally abusive ex was not someone I could build a romantic fantasy around. I had example after example of cruel things that he said or did. I had to face it because it was so obvious.

But when harm is caused by omission, it’s easier to build a romantic fantasy than to face the fact that the harm is just as real and painful as any other. So, when I said, “I love you” and was met with silence, I could explain it away. He didn’t say “I don’t love you.” He didn’t say anything at all. And that made it so much harder to face.

It’s easier to tie a ribbon around the relationship and to attach a pretty bow. To tell myself that it was still this great love story even though it ended. To give myself a fantasy because the reality was too painful to bear. I could manage all my feelings up until the fantasy fell apart. It is what it is, and I could no longer make it what I wanted it to be. Not through sheer effort, will, or creativity.

It is what it is, and I could no longer make it what I wanted it to be — not through sheer effort, will, or creativity.

Instead, I have to accept the painful truth that I wanted a love like that and have never found it. I have to acknowledge that sometimes it makes me feel terribly lonely to have loved so much while never being loved at all. Without a fantasy to distract me, I am left with time on my hands to invest in the life I have now, and it’s strangely disconcerting to do without the fantasy. I only have uncertainty and a small flicker of hope that there is a love like that somewhere in this world for me.

The fantasy, as foolish as it seems, served a purpose.

It helped me cope at a time when I was overwhelmed by grief. It got me through lonely nights and stressful days. It helped me hold onto hope — even though it was misplaced. I’m grateful that I was able to hold onto it for so long.

But I’m also grateful that it ended — without fanfare, without drama. One day, I woke up and found that I no longer needed it. I didn’t need a buffer from my life. I didn’t need a fantasy to help me cope.

I once explained to a happily married friend that it’s easy to forget what it’s like to be single. That temptation to romanticize past connections can fade when we’ve found our person, but when we still haven’t, it’s tempting to build a romantic story to protect us from a less-than-romantic reality. I don’t know a single person who hasn’t, at some point, done this.

It’s tempting to build a romantic story to protect us from a less-than-romantic reality.

There wasn’t anything strange or wrong about entertaining the thought. I had to be at a point in my healing when I could let it go and accept the painful truth. I didn’t need friends to give me a reality check. I needed the space and grace to feel my feelings.

I’ve reached a point where I don’t need a fantasy to survive my life.

I woke up from that dream of true love and took a good look at the life I’d been building here, in reality. I have the home I’ve always wanted, loving children, a thriving garden, and close friends. I have challenges, but I keep overcoming them. I have hope, even if it’s a quiet thing without the fanfare of the fantasy.

I still daydream. I know that I always will. But I’m not trying to romanticize the past anymore. I’m too busy living in the present. Sometimes, I might miss the fantasy — harmless as it might have seemed — but I will always be glad that I was able to leave it behind so that I can be present and available for something real.