The first and only serious relationship I’ve ever had was with my high school boyfriend, a relationship that lasted two years and, in hindsight, maybe shouldn’t have even lasted that long in the first place. But he was my first everything, and having one person as the center of all those milestones made it hard for me to imagine a life without him. By sophomore year of college, it started to occur to me that we didn’t fit together the way we used to, a scary thought that I initially wanted to push away. I realized that I was clinging to this relationship like a security blanket, even though I had outgrown it.
I initiated the difficult conversation about us growing apart, but he ended up convincing me that we should keep trying. This seemed fair—it felt reasonable to try to improve things one last time, and I walked away from the conversation feeling optimistic about our future. I eventually figured out that there was no way to merge the paths we were each on, and the relationship that worked for me in high school was not working for me in college. I asked for a break, and the break ended with us separating for good.
Even when you know you’re making the right choice, it can still hurt. I knew ending this relationship was for the best, but this was still a person that I spent the past two years in love with. That kind of life change doesn’t come without its fair share of consequences. I knew I hurt him, and no matter what I said, nothing would change that.
But from there, things started to spiral. My ex had become part of my friend group when we were dating, and our breakup affected more than just us. I knew he talked about me to other people, and surely not in a favorable light. One of my best friends since childhood, who I’d had a somewhat rocky relationship with for the past few years, essentially ended up thinking of me as the “bad guy” for breaking up with my boyfriend, and that stung. Having someone who’s known me since we were five take the side of the ex I dated for two years made me feel like everyone was against me for making a choice about my own life.
Women have to play an impossible game in the world of romance. If you show too much sorrow for your failed relationships, you’re hysterical and, in the entertainment world, making your pain a commodity to sell your music. If you accept responsibility and admit you hurt someone, you’re a bitch.
Luckily for me, Ariana Grande came when I needed her most. As ridiculous as it sounds, the release of her thank u, next album in the months following my breakup made me feel much less alone. This was a woman who was being criticized almost daily for her relationship choices. The world seemed to think that they knew better than her, that they were allowed to pass judgments on her life just because she lived in the spotlight. Regardless of what critics said about her, thank u, next was an honest display of Grande’s emotions, a way to take back control of her own narrative. This album showed me that it was valid to feel a spectrum of emotions about what I lost: regret, anger, relief.
I still remember hearing “NASA” for the first time on my roommate’s bedroom floor at midnight. Ariana Grande put into words what I desperately wanted people to understand: I needed space. In my relationship, I felt stifled by expectations and the pressure to make things better again. In reality, what I needed during that time was the space to think about what I wanted and to experience life on my own.
Ending the album on “break up with your girlfriend, i’m bored” was a powerful choice that resonated with me. On the surface, it seems to be a song about Grande lusting after a man in a relationship. In the music video, Grande reveals an alternate explanation: she is the one who wants to be broken up with, because it’s time to focus on herself. As someone who struggled with feeling disconnected in my own relationship, this simple catchy song summarized what the people in my life couldn’t seem to understand about why I had to end my relationship.
Across the Atlantic Ocean, three of my best friends studying abroad listened to the album at the same time as I did in Boston. For the duration of this hour-long album, I felt understood, supported by a group of female friends who encouraged me to do what’s best for me. We were connected across continents by this music, in two separate worlds but part of the same experience. As dramatic as that may sound, this album was exactly what I needed, and listening to it with a group of women I love made me feel seen and heard.
As corny or shallow as it may seem on the surface, pop music by women makes me feel understood when I feel alone in real life. Female pop vocalists are becoming progressively more honest in their music and connecting with their audience in new ways. We have Lizzo preaching independence and positivity on Cuz I Love You, Taylor Swift defining herself by love on Lover, and Halsey openly talking about her mental health struggles on Manic. In a world where women are constantly criticized for their emotions, artists like these are taking back their stories and letting themselves feel. This is an exciting era for female musicians in pop, and I for one can’t wait to see what will happen next.