Ever since this breakup, I have not gone about it quietly (clearly lol). I’ve been loud about my pain, about feeling lost and STUCK?, and so deeply afraid. The thing that’s obvious, to me and probably to everyone, is that in sharing all this, I’ve been looking for something.
Looking for connection. Looking for camaraderie. Looking for support. Looking for community. Looking for ways to feel less alone in this scary life. Looking for ways to be more independent and still feel tethered.
And in all this sharing, this shift in how I show up online and in real life, something unexpected happened. I started reconnecting! With people from different stages of my life who are, or have been, in similar situations. Mostly heartbreak. But also layoffs. Grief. Major life change.
We could call ourselves the Heartbreak Club.
Some of them I reached out to because I knew they had also been through long-term relationships that ended.
Relationships where you shared a home. A life. Pets. A future.
These conversations have been more helpful than anything else (well, except Breakup Bootcamp, ofc). There’s something about speaking to someone who just gets it. There’s no judgment. Just being seen. Understood. We talk through the intricacies of this transition. We name the tiny, impossible moments that break you. They share tools and strategies, and survival mechanisms.
And honestly, hearing how deeply dark it got for these wildly successful, beautiful, talented people? That has been a saving grace. It helped me realize I’m not the only one whose life fell apart. That these people are okay. They’re good enough and worthy of love.
It gave me permission to say:
”I am not alone. I do not need to be okay now or anytime soon. All the advice I’m getting might be wrong, and that’s okay too.”
And then there are the people who reached out to me. One from college. Two from high school. An old industry friend from my twenties. Each one letting me know they’re also going through a breakup. Each one quietly joining the </3 club.
We lament. We support. We vent. We cry. We try to plan. We go to dinner. We take walks. We share war stories and battle wounds and all the scars. We swap fears and hopes, and tears. And even more tears.
We’re all trying to rebuild from the ruins.
And thankfully, we’re not doing it alone.
It’s a little community of people my age who are suffering and worthy. And I say worthy because this heartbreak thing makes you forget. It drags up every core wound. For me, the loudest one is that I’m not enough and also too much. So it’s been jarring to look around and see these brilliant, lovable people who are definitely enough and definitely not too much and realize they’re in the same place I am.
It’s like a mirror.
And the wildest part? The advice I give them (and I give excellent advice, this I’ve been told a billion & infinity times) is not the advice I give myself. And why not?!
It’s interesting. Being this open, this vulnerable, this in need, I’ve also received the harshest feedback and judgment of my life. In the span of a year, I lost my job. My relationship. My home. My cats (not fully, but it feels like it). The future I was planning. And my beloved 102-year-old grandmother.
It’s forced me to look around and ask:
Who’s showing up?
How do I show up for myself?
Am I actually completely alone?
How do I rebuild?
How to I create this life I want without him? Without the support I thought i’d receive from my people?
Will I actually be okay?
What I’ve learned is that sometimes the people you never expected are the ones who hold you when you fall. And sometimes the people you thought would be there just…aren’t. And I don’t regret being this raw about my experience. I think there’s beauty and bravery in the honesty. In not cleaning it up. In showing the mess.
And still, I’m so distraught. It’s miserable. It feels like he’s fine. Like he’s already moved on. And is feeling so distant.
And that hurts in a different way.
But I keep reminding myself: healing doesn’t mean I stop hurting overnight. It doesn’t mean I feel okay all the time. It means I keep showing up. Writing. Walking. Asking for help. Letting myself cry. Letting myself feel. It means I stay in the pain instead of running from it.
That’s what healing actually looks like. It’s not clean. It’s not fast. But it’s happening.
Even if it doesn’t feel like it.
I have to mantra what all these people are saying:
“His reaction doesn’t define my healing. His distance doesn’t erase what we had. And just because he seems fine doesn’t mean I’m broken for not being okay yet. I’m not doing this wrong. I’m just in it.”
And being in it is hard. But it’s also proof I still want life. I still want joy. I still believe in love and connection and building something that lasts. That part of me is still here. Even if right now, all I can do is write this and hope it reaches someone who feels the same!
I’ve learned a lot. About myself. About others. About how people do or don’t hold space. And yeah, there’s truth in the argument that not everyone deserves access to your deepest feelings. Not everyone has earned that intimacy.
But in sharing widely, I’ve built something. However small.
They say the best way to rebuild your life is to get out of your comfort zone. Meet new people. Rediscover your passions. Try new things. Put yourself out there.
And in that way, I am. I’m trying.
It’s why I started the Walk & Talk club (next one is in July, message me).
It’s why I write this blog (so you know you’re not alone either).
It’s why I overshare (as if I had a choice).
It’s why I travel and overcommit and keep saying yes.
Shout out to the unexpected heartbreak club members and adjacent supporters (don’t be offended if you’re not on here, maybe you’re someone I knew I could lean on): Emily, Erica D., Chelsea, Yasi, Jordy, Andrew, Brittany, Felise, Willi, Taryn, India, Erica S., and others I may have forgotten.
And of course, my ride-or-dies. The ones who stayed up late with me. Hosted me when I couldn’t be alone. Helped me breathe through panic. Let me cry (and cry and cry). Planned things. Reminded me who I am. Gave me the real real. Held me accountable. I love you. I need you. I see every ounce of effort and energy, and I appreciate you more than you’ll ever know or I’ll ever be able to articulate. You know who you are <3
I can’t wait to not feel so very STUCK?
Thank goodness for community! I’m so glad you’ve found yours 💕