The only way to heal a broken heart is to come home to yourself again. It’s more than returning to who you were before the relationship; it’s an intentional act of giving yourself the love and care you once gave so freely to someone else. In the end, it’s always about you.
Even while grieving, I still believe in love and I love love. I still saw the good in people even if it had been the source of my pain, or maybe I just didn’t want to admit to myself that even I could get into a hurtful situation. And maybe it wasn’t about them. Maybe it was me getting too attached and wanting to prove my worthiness by having them choose me. It’s absolutely the wrongest way to view my self-worth — by hoping someone else would validate it. Only I can define my worth, but it took this heartbreak to realise it.
I didn’t know what to do with all the time I had for myself at first. It’s funny because I used to be incredibly independent before any relationship. I thought I wouldn’t have this problem of rediscovering my independence, because I had many interests and things I want to try and do. But I had grown used to having another presence in my life that I had to relearn how to do everything on my own again. Eventually I learned to take one day at a time, making it a daily practice to become more present and rediscover what it felt like to simply be with myself.
And I didn’t know where to give the love I’d been giving too. I can’t recall at one point and how, but I realized that the answer lay in healing my inner child wound. That’s when I knew whatever I do, I’m doing it for her. I imagine her — scared, uncertain, unloved — and I pour the love into her. I try to be more patient and gentle because I wouldn’t rush or berate a child for not knowing. She deserves care, just like I do. So whatever I did, I tried to be gentle with myself especially when the healing process is not linear. If I tried too hard to force my recovery and move on as fast as I can, it only made things harder to. Healing can’t be rushed; letting it run its course works more naturally. It still stung and irked me when the other person seemed to have “moved on” while I was still stuck at grieving. I remind myself that it wasn’t a race, and tried (impatiently and imperfectly) to let go of the comparison.
Learning to just let them was an underrated advice I found. Not “let them go”, but “let them”, because their life was no longer my business anymore. It was also emotionally exhausting to unconsciously keep track of what they were doing. With that realization, I turned my focus inward and indulged in the things I enjoyed again. But I also went back into the basics: I now love talking walks whenever I can and especially when the sun is up, listening to new music (house music, surprisingly), and soaking up some sun. It sounds cringey but feeling the warmth on my skin and sweat against my neck reminded me I was alive and more in tune with my body. It was one of the ways (still is) that made me feel good and grounded.
When I felt stuck in my head, I also sweat it out by working out. At first spite can be a good motivator but it’s also for myself. It’s a satisfying trade of emotional pain for physical pain (ha ha), and I got to become hotter too. Not only from physical appearance, but also I straightened my back, improved my posture, and grew more confident in myself. Overall it was also regaining my sense of power and strength in a way.
But the real lesson was getting out of my head. I know we see ourselves as smart, rational people so it’s only natural to decipher our way out of negative situations. But I regret to inform you that it isn’t as easy as it sounds and not the case for everything. Sometimes it doesn’t matter how hard you think through things, because spending time ruminating the problem won’t help get over the heartache.
Intellectualizing my feelings felt like the most logical way out, but it kept me trapped in my head. Holding it back and chucking my feelings into the backlog of my head will leave myself even more stuck and traumatized in the long run. Overthinking does nothing, as the emotions demand to be felt. It’s only by feeling through my emotions (letting myself grieve, cry, be angry, feel the shame) first that I can begin to process what had happened. It’s getting out of my head and paying attention to what my body feels and needs at the moment, then accept that the shitty truth (the betrayal, the hurt, the shame) did happen and move forward. It’s obviously not fantastic and totally not cool of them to hurt me and may they never know peace, but just let them. In the mean time, I sat through the discomfort, wrote my thoughts and feelings out in a journal, closed it, and get out of the house to do something — anything.
It can be hard to focus on myself after being so used to having someone around, again ruminating what went wrong or what I could have done in the past. That’s why I surround myself with people I love — close friends and family. Brunches, dinners, late-night calls—whatever it took to get my thoughts and feelings out of my system. They reminded me of who I was outside the relationship, which reassured me that I was still loved. With their support, I began to rebuild my sense of self.
There’s also the whole deal about attachment theory. Discovering my anxious attachment style made sense of my patterns of how I was subconsciously drawn to more avoidant partners, because these two types tend to attract one another. It made me understand why I still chose to stay in the relationship, even when the red flags were obvious. It was the dynamic that mirrored the familiar love I’d known as a child. It might not be the healthiest reference to love, but it was the first “love” I was familiar with, even if it wasn’t the love I truly desire. At least I know a bit better what kind of person I actually like and recognize red flags. At least I know what triggers me now for me to heal from it. At least I’m ready to fall in love and love someone again.
This wasn’t the experience I wanted to reclaim the sense of self, nor the lesson I would’ve chosen at my lowest point, but it was the one I needed. I think I mentioned in one of my previous posts that in some twisted, fucked up way, I’m grateful for it. Because in the end, heartbreak (as painful as it was) taught me how to come home to myself again — stronger, wiser, and more whole.
