There comes a moment in every long-term relationship (you know the sort, those messy, life-dented ones) where you look across the room at the person you love and think, “I need a bit of space.” Not doors slammed, boxes packed. Just a little bit of space. A quiet walk. A few days where you haven’t got so much noise and smoke going on in your head. Time to breathe and get everything back into perspective.

Supporting Vale is no different.

There are times when following Port Vale feels like a one-way emotional transaction. This season is one of those times. You give Vale everything. Your money. Your hopes. Your dreams. Your reason for living. And what have you got back in return? Nothing but disappointment and an overwhelming sense of being gaslighted. And it hurts. It’s the classic dynamic of an unbalanced romance: all give, no receive; all yearning, no return; all “we need to talk” and never “I’m sorry, I’ll do better.”

So, maybe the time comes when you need to step away. Just a little. It doesn’t mean the end. It’s not that dramatic.

Maybe you skip a midweek match and spend the evening doing something sensible, like the ironing or staring at a wall. Maybe you ignore the league table. Maybe you stop constructing those internal monologues at six o’clock in the morning about how everything will be fine once we build some momentum under Jon Brady, once we get two or three back-to-back league wins under our belt, once we start clawing our way back up the mountain.

Leaving Vale Park last night, I felt like I’d hit a “step away” moment. And yet, walking back up Tunstall, I still found myself making excuses for them – we were the better team in the second half, we didn’t deserve to lose, all the usual lines, the usual bullshit we tell ourselves. The truth? At no point did we ever look like scoring. We did deserve to lose. Wimbledon created chances; we didn’t. That’s the reality.

In those closing stages, that last five minutes, I caught myself thinking we might nick a winner. Why? Because it felt like it was written in the script. No other reason than that. Then they nicked a winner, and I felt my heart drop right through me. I felt numb. I felt betrayed. I felt like I’d been cheated on.

But why? We’ve been bottom since 22nd November. We’ve won five league games all season. Why do I keep convincing myself that maybe, just maybe, everything will somehow be alright? Why can’t I just accept reality? We will be relegated, it’s a certainty. And yet, here I am right now, thinking maybe Andre Gray is getting a hat-trick on Saturday in our 5-0 demolition of Burton. I just can’t stop myself, I’ve got a head full of magic.

Here’s the thing – the part I can never escape no matter how many times I try: football is a relationship built on forgiveness. The tiniest glimmer of amends – a decent performance, a new signing who gets you buzzing before he’s even kicked a ball, a scrappy 1–0 away win – and suddenly you’re back. You’re invested again. Regardless of everything. It’s ridiculous. It’s irrational. But it’s human.

Because what’s really happening is this: you remember why you fell in love with Vale in the first place. That childhood moment, walking into Vale Park, taking it all in, that indescribable moment of suddenly feeling alive. Those players you idolised, the Vale community, the standing together, the unspoken pact that you would suffer collectively and therefore survive collectively. Valiants know this better than most. We don’t love the highs despite the lows. We love them because of the lows. Without the bleak Tuesday nights, the occasional Saturday sunshine wouldn’t mean half as much.

So yes, maybe I will step away for the rest of this season and give myself the luxury of perspective. Step back, breathe, remind myself that the world is bigger than a fixture list and this barely-functioning football team. I won’t feel guilty. They’ve already got my season ticket money. There’s far more to my life than just Vale. I’m married. I’ve got a full-time job. Who knows, maybe I’ll build a shed on Saturday. And no matter how loudly I insist I won’t be renewing for next year’s trudge through League Two, I know full well that I will.

Why?

Because in the end, supporting Vale is like loving a flawed partner who keeps promising they’ll change. You tell yourself you’re done a hundred times, but one late winner, one moment of genius, one tiny sign that they’re giving it their all and you’re pulled straight back in. Heart and soul.

Because you don’t choose the relationship. It chooses you. And all you can do is figure out how to love it without losing yourself along the way.