Feral Feelings: The Breakup Rollercoaster

Dear Feral Feelings, 

I’m going through a super complicated breakup and I’m not sure how to cope. Neither of us can afford to live apart right now so we’re stuck together. He’s going to move out eventually, but it’ll be a while. Money is really tight. We’re not sleeping in the same bed and we’re trying to give each other space but it’s hard and uncomfortable when we’re home together. To make shit more complicated, we’ve been hooking up sometimes and afterward we end up getting into the same fights that broke us up. Then we vow to stop hooking up but end up hooking up again anyway. It’s a roller coaster and I’m exhausted. 

— Stuck Together 

Dear Stuck Together,

First things first—this is hard. Breakups are rarely clean, and what you’re describing is a particular kind of heartbreak: the kind that doesn’t get the dignity of distance. You’re grieving someone while still sharing space with them. Of course you’re exhausted; anyone would be.

It’s a sad reality that many of us can’t afford a clean break. And even when we can, housing isn’t always available. I’ve been there too, and it was utterly gut-wrenching. I’ll never forget coming home from work to find my angry, grief-stricken ex brooding on the couch. The stress felt nearly insurmountable. And still—I got through it. You will too.

Let’s name what’s happening.

Right now, you’re on a loop: closeness leads to physical intimacy, which leads to conflict, which leads to distance . . . and then back to closeness again.

That’s the roller coaster.

And while every part of it makes emotional sense, there is one piece of the ride that keeps pulling you back up that first steep climb: sleeping together. When you call this a roller coaster, you’re exactly right. And a roller coaster is a ride you choose to get on. You don’t have to keep making that choice.

I’m not here to shame you. It’s deeply human to reach for comfort in the person who used to be home. You’re both in grief, and sometimes that grief can paradoxically heighten desire.

But it’s also true that this physical intimacy is keeping the wound open. It blurs the line between “we’re ending” and “we’re still trying,” which means neither of you can fully begin to heal.

So if you’re looking for a place to interrupt the cycle, this is it: keep your commitment to stop sleeping together. Not because desire disappears, but because clarity needs space to take root.

Now—practically speaking, you’re in a tough situation. You can’t just walk away. So the work becomes creating structure inside the shared space. You say you’re trying to give each other space, but it sounds like that structure hasn’t quite taken hold yet.

Here are some places to begin:

1. Set clear, spoken boundaries. Not vague intentions—actual agreements.

• No more hooking up. When the urge arises, redirect it—leave the house, call a friend, take a shower, change the channel.
• Disengage from arguments. Fighting can become its own form of intimacy. You don’t have to participate.
• Decide what shared time (if any) looks like—meals, TV, or none at all.

You can even name it explicitly: “We are in a transition period, not a romantic relationship.” That clarity matters.

2. Reclaim your energy. Right now, a lot of your emotional bandwidth is tied up in monitoring him—his presence, his mood, the tension between you. Gently redirect that energy back toward yourself.

• How are you feeling?
• What do you need?
• What have you been neglecting?
• What feels stabilizing or nourishing, even in small ways?

This can be as simple as taking a walk alone, listening to music that’s just yours, or rearranging your space so it feels like you again.

3. Get out of the house (and into your support system). You cannot process this breakup in isolation while living inside it. Call your friends. Sit on someone’s couch. Let yourself be witnessed outside of this dynamic. You need spaces where you’re not “the ex who still lives there”—you’re just you.

4. Make a plan, even if it’s imperfect. Uncertainty amplifies stress. Even a loose timeline helps.

• When might he realistically move out?
• What financial steps need to happen to get there?
• Are there interim options—sublets, staying with friends, more clearly defined separate spaces?

You don’t need a perfect solution. You need a sense that this is temporary.

And finally, remember that you are allowed to be messy.

As author Mary Shelley once said, “Invention, it must be humbly admitted, does not consist in creating out of void, but out of chaos.” In the process of inventing a new life, there will be chaos. In some ways, you need it. 

Breakups dismantle routines, identities, and futures you thought you were building. Of course you’re going to wobble. Of course you might say “never again” and then find yourself back in their arms a week later. That doesn’t make you weak—it makes you human, mid-transition.

But chaos is only transformative if you learn from it.

So notice the pattern. Notice what hurts. Notice what prolongs the hurt. And when you’re ready, choose—imperfectly, again and again—to step off the ride.

You don’t have to do it all at once.

But if you want your sanity back, it may be time to step off the roller coaster, wander the wider amusement park of your own experience, and see what else is waiting for you there.

Amber Autumn Leaves Huntsman is a therapist, hedgewitch and silkie mythologist. Do you have a problem that you think Feral Feelings could answer? Send them to feralfeelings@jeffcobeacon.com