Sometimes, you only know whether something is truly over after you have given it one last chance to become something different.
Not because you have forgotten what happened.
Not because all the pain has suddenly disappeared.
And not because you want to naively believe that everything will somehow work itself out.
But simply because one question keeps lingering somewhere inside you:
What if we stopped fighting for a moment and looked at what might still be left between us?
That question has crossed my mind more often over the past few months than I perhaps wanted to admit.
After everything that had happened, after the breakup, the accusations, the financial discussions and eventually the legal battle as well, I could just as easily have decided that enough was enough.
That the door was closing.
For good.
But to me, it did not feel that simple.
There had been more than twenty years together.
A family.
A business.
A home.
Thousands of memories.
Beautiful moments and incredibly difficult ones.
You do not simply switch all of that off because a piece of paper now says that two people have become ex-partners.
And so I left the door slightly open.
What if the fighting stopped for a while?
During my therapy sessions, the same thought kept returning.
Maybe today we simply could not know what was still left between us.
Not as long as everything was overshadowed by money, property, legal proceedings, the business, the house and everything that still had to be divided.
As long as two people are standing opposite each other, each holding their own file, it is difficult to discover whether they can still simply stand beside each other.
That insight stayed with me.
And that is why, over the past few months, I tried to create some movement in that deadlock.
I made proposals.
I looked for solutions.
I tried not to look at things only from the perspective of what I might legally be able to defend to the fullest extent, but also from another question:
How do we finally put this behind us?
Not because the financial side had suddenly become unimportant.
Quite the opposite.
Some things touch me far more deeply than their monetary value. They are about recognition, about what we built together and about feeling that my contribution to it is seen as well.
But I did not want that battle to remain the only thing left between us forever.
Maybe, I thought, we first needed to close that chapter before we could discover whether another chapter was still possible.
And there were beautiful moments again
Perhaps that was exactly what made it so confusing.
Because in between all those difficult conversations, there were also moments when the past suddenly seemed far away.
We went out together again.
We ate together.
We talked.
We laughed.
There was warmth and affection again.
Sometimes it even felt surprisingly familiar.
Not the same as before.
It cannot be.
Too much has happened.
But there were moments when I thought:
Maybe two people really can get to know each other again.
Not by going back to the past.
But by discovering who they have become today.
And somewhere along the way, something I had tried to protect for a long time began to grow again:
hope.
Even holidays came up again
At one point, we even started talking about going on holiday together.
The idea was to spend a week away together at the beginning of August and perhaps another week later that month.
To someone else, that might not seem particularly significant.
For me, there was more behind it.
I knew that someone from another, very emotionally charged chapter of my life would probably be in that same area during that period.
A person who was once incredibly important to me and who will inevitably remain part of everything that happened.
That was precisely why the proposal touched me.
I thought:
If my ex-wife wants to go there with me during that exact period, then maybe that means something.
Maybe it meant that we no longer had to react to everything through the past.
Maybe it meant that she was genuinely prepared to choose what might still exist between us, without allowing every old wound to decide once again where we could or could not be.
To me, that felt like a strong signal.
Perhaps even stronger than she herself realised.
And so I kept that plan in mind.
Waiting just a little longer
But it remained a possibility.
No definite date yet.
Just wait and see.
Maybe this.
Maybe that.
Meanwhile, time kept passing.
And I noticed something about myself that I actually know very well.
I started keeping my own plans open again.
Not booking anything.
Waiting just a little longer.
Taking into account what might still be possible together.
Maybe early August.
Maybe late August.
Maybe one week together.
Maybe two.
And there is nothing inherently wrong with that.
When someone matters to you, you take each other into account.
But somewhere there is a line between taking someone into account and putting your own life on hold.
And I began to feel that line again.
Meanwhile, I mostly kept working
There was something else as well.
Over the past few months, I had once again completely thrown myself into my work.
Starting early.
Finishing late.
Seven days a week.
There was always something else that needed to be finished.
Another problem.
Another project.
Another possibility.
Work has something appealing about it when your head is full.
Work is concrete.
There is a problem and, most of the time, there is a solution somewhere.
You can measure whether something succeeded.
You can keep going.
And as long as you stay busy, sometimes you do not have to stop and think too much.
But people around me started pointing out that I could not keep doing this forever.
And somewhere inside, of course, I already knew that too.
A few days were enough
It was only when I recently went south for a few days to see some friends again that I rediscovered something I had been forgetting.
Nothing spectacular was needed.
Sunshine.
The sea.
Eating together.
A beautiful show.
Laughing.
Talking.
Seeing people again who once meant a great deal to me and who still do today.
And above all:
not having to solve anything for a while.
I came home and realised how much of a difference four days could make.
Not because all the problems had disappeared.
They were still waiting at home exactly where I had left them.
But I felt different.
A few days later, I experienced something similar again, this time with my daughter.
Music.
Partying.
Making memories together.
Simply enjoying what was there in that moment.
And suddenly I remembered a promise I had made to myself a year earlier:
I do not want to sacrifice my entire life to work again.
Last year, two months
Last year, I eventually spent almost two months on the road.
That was a completely different journey.
Simpler.
A lot of improvisation.
A lot of time alone.
A lot of thinking.
Perhaps a little bit of running away too.
Perhaps searching.
Perhaps healing.
This year, I did not feel the need to do it that way again.
I do not need to leave for two months.
I do not need to leave everything behind once again.
But taking no holiday at all because I kept waiting for other plans to perhaps become concrete?
That started to make less and less sense.
So I looked again at what was still available.
Much of what I had originally considered was already fully booked or practically impossible by then.
And eventually, a very simple moment arrived.
No big argument.
No dramatic decision.
Just:
I have to choose now.
So I booked
Twelve days.
Not two months like last year.
A little more comfort this time.
A place I know.
Sun and sea.
People I hope to see again.
And above all, twelve days during which I give myself permission not to do nothing but work.
I did not book that holiday against anyone.
Not to make anyone jealous.
Not to make a statement.
And not because I suddenly no longer wanted to go away together.
Quite the opposite.
Even after I had booked, I still tried to see whether there was a way to organise the other plans around my holiday.
For me, that booking did not mean:
the door is closed.
It simply meant:
my life does not have to stand still in the meantime.
And yet something changed
From the moment my own holiday was truly fixed, I noticed the atmosphere changing again.
The conversations became more difficult.
Old discussions returned.
The legal reality that had remained somewhat in the background for a while suddenly came very clearly to the foreground again.
The division.
The business.
The camper.
Ownership.
Rights.
Who was entitled to what.
Once again, words that I had hoped we could gradually begin replacing with solutions.
And something started to bother me again.
Not because two people always have to agree financially.
That would be naive.
But because I began to feel that perhaps we had very different ideas about what “solving things together” actually meant.
One particular remark about the business stayed with me, for example.
Not only because of its legal meaning.
But because of what those words stirred up inside me.
More than twenty years of my life are intertwined with what we built together.
When something like that is suddenly viewed only through the question of who formally holds which rights today, I feel how far reality can sometimes have drifted from the story that came before it.
And then, for me, it is no longer only about money.
It is about recognition.
About fairness.
About how two people look back at their shared past.
Was I too naive?
That question started returning.
Did I want to believe too much over the past few months?
Did I interpret certain signals in the way I hoped they were meant?
Did I perhaps mistake beautiful moments for fundamental change?
I do not know.
Maybe.
But I also do not know whether I would have wanted to do things differently.
Because imagine that from the very beginning I had responded only from suspicion.
That I had rejected every attempt at getting closer.
That I had never tried to find solutions.
Perhaps later I would have asked myself exactly the same question:
What if I had given her one genuine chance after all?
I do not have to ask myself that question today.
I tried.
I gave space.
I made proposals.
I allowed myself to be vulnerable again.
I looked at what was still there when we were not constantly arguing.
And I allowed myself to hope.
Maybe that was not naive.
Maybe I simply needed to experience it for myself.
Giving someone a chance is not the same as losing yourself again
There is one important difference for me compared with the past.
In the past, loving someone often meant making a little more space.
Waiting a little longer.
Trying one more time.
Giving something else up.
Looking for one more solution.
Trying even harder to explain what I meant.
And somewhere along the way, I sometimes lost sight of where my own boundary actually was.
I do not want to do that again.
Today, I can still say that I am not closing the door.
I can still have feelings.
I can still hope that one day two people can sit opposite each other without files, lawyers, money and old conflicts between them, and discover what is truly still there.
But in the meantime, I am allowed to live too.
I am allowed to book a holiday.
I am allowed to make time for friends.
I am allowed to enjoy time with my daughter.
I am allowed to make decisions without first waiting to see whether someone else is comfortable with them.
I am allowed to have a life of my own.
That is not a rejection of someone else.
Maybe it is actually the first time I am truly trying not to reject anyone — including myself.
Maybe this was the real chance
Perhaps for a long time I thought that the chance I was giving was mainly a chance for our relationship.
But maybe it was also a chance I was giving myself.
A chance to discover whether I could connect again without losing myself completely.
Whether I could allow love in without giving away my boundaries.
Whether I could feel hope without attaching my entire future to it.
And maybe that is precisely what is different now.
I do not have to decide today how this story ends.
I do not have to say:
it will never work out again.
But I no longer have to say:
I will wait until everything becomes clear.
Maybe there is something between those two extremes.
A place where you can say:
I tried.
I remain honest about what I feel.
I am not ruling anything out.
But in the meantime, I keep moving forward.
The door
A door can remain open.
That means someone can still be welcome.
That perhaps one day another conversation may be possible.
That there does not have to be hatred.
That everything that once existed does not suddenly become worthless simply because the future is uncertain.
But an open door is not a waiting room.
You do not have to sit beside it.
You do not have to check every few minutes to see whether someone is coming.
You do not have to postpone your own plans because perhaps, one day, someone might walk through it.
Maybe that is what I have had to learn again over these past few months.
I do not have to slam the door shut in order to move forward.
I am allowed to simply get up.
And live.
Final thought
You can leave a door open for someone without sitting in front of it waiting.
Psychological perspective
Attachment loyalty – holding on to a connection because what once existed still carries meaning, even when you notice that your own life is beginning to stand still because of it.
Cognitive dissonance – the tension between what you hope for and what you see happening in reality. Beautiful moments can create hope, while other events simultaneously create doubt.
Self-neglect – repeatedly postponing your own plans or needs in order to keep making space for the other person.
Emotional autonomy – learning to remain connected without making your own choices completely dependent on what someone else does.
Psychologically, letting go therefore does not necessarily mean that the feelings disappear. Sometimes it simply means learning to distinguish between loving someone else and remaining true to yourself.
Spiritual perspective
A similar principle appears in different spiritual and philosophical traditions.
In Buddhism, attachment is regarded as a source of suffering. Letting go does not mean that someone can no longer matter to you, but that you stop making your inner peace dependent on one particular outcome.
In Taoism, the emphasis is on moving with what life brings without trying to force or control everything. Sometimes movement begins precisely when we stop pulling at something that is not moving on its own.
And perhaps that is exactly where the spiritual meaning of an open door can be found:
you do not have to slam it shut, but neither do you have to keep waiting in front of it.
Closing line
You can give someone the space to return without taking away your own space to keep moving forward.