It is the weekend, and a reader once wished I would confine my writings to relationships and social interactions instead of politics. I was not surprised it came from a woman; I had earlier written, perhaps provocatively about what I described as a “women’s phobia for political news,” a claim that did not go unchallenged. Still, even for someone who sees politics in almost everything, there are moments when life insists on a quieter reflection. This Saturday offered such a pause, gently pulling me away from public affairs into the intimate theatre of personal relationships.
It was my wife who first drew my attention to a lighthearted post, a trainer urging his trainee to strike a punching bag with the same intensity he would unleash on an ex-partner. When the blows landed too softly, the trainer questioned him, almost theatrically: “Is that how you would hit your ex?” I never saw the video, yet the imagery alone was enough to provoke laughter between us. But laughter, as it often does, concealed a deeper invitation to think. For behind every joke lies a fragment of truth, sometimes uncomfortable, often revealing.
The phrase “my ex” has now become a cultural shorthand among young people, worn almost like a badge, sometimes of experience, sometimes of survival, and occasionally of pride. Social psychologists, particularly those influenced by attachment theory as developed by John Bowlby, would argue that such recurring references are not accidental. They signal unresolved emotional bonds, echoes of intimacy that resist quiet burial. What was once spoken in hushed tones, if at all, is now brandished casually in conversations, captions, and comedy skits. It suggests not just the inevitability of failed relationships, but perhaps our growing comfort with them, or worse, our quiet resignation to their frequency.
This raises a troubling yet necessary question: should all ex-partners be treated as friends or as enemies? The answer is neither simple nor universal, but the question itself is revealing. It forces us to interrogate our own emotional architecture, the ways we love, detach, remember, and sometimes resent.
Relationship scholars like Caryl Rusbult, through the Investment Model, have long demonstrated that commitment is not merely about love, but about the resources such as time, emotion, shared experiences, we invest. When such investments collapse, the emotional debris rarely disappears neatly.
The truth is that not all relationships are meant to last. Yet, it is equally true that many of the relationships we enter carry early signs of fragility, the signals we ignore in the name of passion, curiosity, or even convenience. The aftermath is what we now package neatly into the term “ex,” a label that often conceals more than it reveals. Beneath it lie layers of disappointment, perceived betrayal, wounded pride, and sometimes, unspoken regret.
Even the most amicable separations are not entirely free of emotional residue. Human beings are not wired for clean emotional exits. Cognitive dissonance theory, introduced by Leon Festinger, helps explain this tension: when reality contradicts our earlier beliefs, “this person is right for me”, we struggle to reconcile the inconsistency. One way we cope is by subtly re-framing the past or harboring quiet resentment. Thus, even when two people part ways peacefully, there may linger an unarticulated wish for vindication, or what many casually call karma.
It is also not uncommon to see individuals who initiated a separation still react with discomfort, even jealousy, when their former partners move on. The emotional imprint of intimacy does not dissolve with legal or social closure. Memory, as neuroscientists suggest, is deeply associative; shared experiences about places, conversations, touch that create lasting neural pathways. These do not simply vanish because a relationship ends. They remain, sometimes dormant, sometimes triggered, shaping how we perceive future relationships.
This is why entering relationships casually, without regard for sustainability, can be more hazardous than it appears. The emotional consequences of failed relationships often extend beyond the individuals involved, influencing future connections with suspicion, insecurity, or guardedness. What begins as a fleeting romance can leave a lasting psychological footprint, complicating the possibility of genuine happiness later on.
And yet, society now seems to normalize, perhaps even glamorize, the existence of “exes.” We carry the title forward, referencing it in new relationships, conversations, and even jokes, as though it were an inevitable chapter that must remain permanently bookmarked. But one must ask: does this constant invocation reflect maturity, or does it betray an inability to fully let go?
I was reminded of a story that stirred something deeper in me. Hannatu Musawa, Nigeria’s Minister of Art, Culture and the Creative Economy, once spoke about her past marriage to Abdul Samad Rabiu. She described it not as a failure, but as one of the greatest experiences of her life. Despite their separation, they remain connected, bound by mutual respect, shared history, and family. There was no bitterness in her words, no trace of hostility, only a calm acceptance and an enduring sense of appreciation.
Her perspective offers a rare but powerful contrast. It suggests that an “ex” need not always be an enemy, nor even a lingering emotional burden. It is possible, though perhaps uncommon to transform past intimacy into a different form of connection, one that is no longer romantic but still humane.
Yet, such examples seem to be the exception rather than the rule. The more dominant narrative, amplified by social media, leans toward mockery, bitterness, and subtle hostility. Platforms thrive on exaggerated emotions, turning private pain into public entertainment. In doing so, they reinforce the idea that no relationship truly ends, it simply changes form, often into a source of humor or quiet resentment.
While it may be comforting to hear stories of amicable separations, the reality for many is far more complicated. Separation often leaves scars, emotional imprints that influence how individuals see themselves and others. These scars can manifest as distrust, jealousy, or even a reluctance to fully commit again. In this sense, the “ex” becomes not just a person, but a psychological presence.
Perhaps the most unsettling question is whether we are becoming too comfortable with this cycle. The increasing normalization of “ex” relationships may reflect not just changing social dynamics, but a deeper challenge, our struggle to build relationships that are sustainable, resilient, and emotionally intelligent. The more we trivialize the aftermath, the less we confront the causes.
And yet, language offers us little alternative. There is no simpler term than “ex” to describe a former partner. But its growing prominence in everyday discourse reveals something deeper: a quiet acknowledgment of relational instability. It is not just a word; it is a mirror.
So, are our exes friends or enemies? Perhaps they are neither. Perhaps they are reminders of choices made, lessons learned, and emotions once deeply felt. The real question is not what we call them, but what we carry forward from them. If what remains is bitterness, then the relationship has not truly ended. But if what lingers is understanding, growth, and a certain peace, then perhaps the story, though finished, was not a tragedy after all.
Bagudu can be reached via bagudumohammed15197@gmail.com or 07034943575.
