One Week of Heartbreak

Last week, after a journey which was in equal  parts both painful and beautiful, my partner and I decided to part ways. 

It was one of those things that was a long time coming but at the same time felt totally abrupt. 

And honestly, my reaction to the heartbreak and loss has been… unexpected. 

Day 1: 

I can only describe my emotional state on the day of my breakup as one of complete shock. 

Generally speaking, I moved through the hours business-as-usual with the only evidence of anything amiss being my elevated levels of distraction. My focus at work was basically nonexistent—small tasks took far longer than normal and whatever I did manage to complete can’t have been up to my usual standard.

It wasn’t until nighttime that I finally cried. And got really, deeply, sad. 

Truth be told, all I wanted at that moment, so desperately, was for him to come back home to me. 

Only one thing kept me somewhat sane: a gentle, nagging feeling that we had, in fact, made the right decision—as hard as it was. 

Days 2-4: 

The next few days were pure agony and loneliness. 

I wasn’t sleeping well. Loud noises and bright lights were overstimulating. I was jumpy and emotionally unstable. Being around people felt both necessary and also draining. 

It sucked. A lot. 

So, I did what I always do in times of uncertainty—I made a plan. 

I was (and still am) determined to process these feelings in a genuinely healthy way and get through it stronger than ever. 

And through this turmoil, through the hurt and the second guessing, something else started to happen, too. 

My rational mind—the one that knows I deserve a love that is more stable and committed—started to have a stronger voice. And with it came a visceral feeling that, even though we cared about each other deeply and were compatible in many ways, he wasn’t “it.” 

Days 5 & 6

I still wasn’t sleeping well and my concentration levels remained subpar, but things were undeniably getting better.

The feeling that it wasn’t meant to be deepened. And, surprisingly, this was probably the most painful part of my process to date. 

Why? Because it meant that my fantasy of him rescuing me from this sadness was never going to happen. It meant that we were, in all likelihood, never going to be together. 

For almost 3 years, he was the most important person in my life. Realizing and truly believing that we will never be that close again brought me to new levels of heartbreak.

And then, honestly, I got pissed. Pissed at him for never fully choosing me. Pissed at myself for contorting my being into something I wasn’t in the hopes that he would choose me. And pissed at heartbreak for refusing to be linear (all I ask is that the next day be less painful than the last, please!). 

Day 7: 

After an exceptionally productive session with my therapist, a little glimmer of excitement crept in. 

Excitement at everything the future holds—who I’ll meet, the things I’ll do, the people I’ll love—so many things that would have never happened if we’d stayed together. 

And that feeling has only continued to grow. 

I still miss him immensely. 

But, on a happy note, letting go of him being part of my dream relationship has felt so right. 

It has made me both optimistic about my own future, but also for the prospect of us—maybe—being able to stay in each other’s lives at some point down the road, even if only in a small way. 

So today, on Day 8 (woo!) I’m overjoyed to say that I am finally getting amped about what lies ahead. 

And though I’m sure the next few weeks (and maybe months) of healing won’t be easy or predictable, I’m proud of myself for getting here. It’s taken a lot of trust, courage, support, and looking within.

Let’s see what’s next.