I’ll never forget the moment when I realized I was doing it all wrong—love, I mean. Like so many people, I thought relationships were about finding the person who checked all the right boxes. You know the list: funny, adventurous, good with my weirdly energetic labradoodle, Hank. But life has this way of pulling you aside, like a stern-yet-wonderfully-dramatic part-time theater director, and saying, “Sweetie, you’ve misread the lines.”

For me, that wake-up call came in the form of a relationship that crumbled in the most spectacularly mundane way imaginable. No fiery fights, no cinematic walkouts, just the slow erosion of connection until one day, there was nothing left. Standing in the leftover dust, I thought, “I don’t think I’ll survive this.” But I did. And I learned that sometimes it’s not the relationships themselves that break you but the part where you have to rebuild. Sobering fact: you can’t avoid that part. Encouraging fact: it’s how you finally grow.

Breaking Point: When All the Potatoes Go Bad

In hindsight, the cracks were already showing when my partner and I decided to spend a weekend at my grandparents’ old farm—a romantic Idaho getaway, I thought. But let me tell you, nothing tests two people quite like sorting through a damp root cellar of spoiled potatoes. Behind the smell (truly unforgettable) and the arguing over who was "holding the flashlight wrong” sat a metaphor for our relationship: it wasn’t just one rotting spud; the entire batch was starting to stink.

Of course, I ignored it. We all want to believe the magic can be rekindled. I brushed over the tense silences and awkward apologies with plans to "figure things out later." But later never came. Breakups are messy, whether they happen screaming in your driveway or quietly over Thai takeout during “Ted Lasso.” Mine was the latter—a death-by-a-thousand papercuts kind of breakup. You think heartbreak will come with a bang, but sometimes it’s just an unremarkable Tuesday.

The Funk And How I Fought It

After the dissolution of my relationship, I entered what I lovingly call “The Funk.” You’ve been there, right? Hoodie-wearing, crying-while-watching-dog-rescue-videos-on-Instagram level Funk. For weeks, I drifted between aimless sadness and an Ana de Armas movie montage of someone "finding themselves." Except, spoiler alert: finding yourself requires a lot fewer scenic hikes and a lot more hard truths.

For me, those truths started with asking questions I’d avoided in that relationship. For example: Why did I need constant validation? Why had I built my happiness around him texting me goodnight? And while we’re at it, why on earth did I buy matching hiking boots when I hate hiking?

That’s the thing about heartbreak: it strips you down to the studs and forces you to reassess what really matters. To anyone out there feeling like their breakup might swallow them whole, here’s a secret: it won’t. Not if you start rebuilding, brick by painfully slow brick.

Finding My Bearings: The Post-Breakup Tool Kit

After my breakup, I needed tools—not gimmicks like posting thirst traps or throwing all my ex’s stuff in a bonfire (tempting, but Boise fire codes exist for a reason). I’m talking about practical, self-loving tools that actually helped me regain my footing. Here’s what worked:

1. Journaling Without the Judginess

I bought a cheap notebook at a local shop downtown that screamed, "You’re sad but artsy!" At first, writing felt silly, like I was starring in a teen drama. But the act of putting my swirling thoughts on paper was life-changing. I learned to identify the patterns that kept pulling me into unfulfilling relationships—like staying too long out of fear and believing that compromising always means shrinking.

Pro-tip: Skip the leather-bound journals unless you want sobbing over a failed breakup to feel like a performance. Go budget; go messy.

2. The Trusted Friend Hotline

God bless my best friend, Bailey, who answered every weepy phone call with humor and caffeine offers. Surround yourself with the kind of people who remind you of your worth. (And who don’t mind Fielding questions like, “Do you think their new partner knows they’re the type of person who leaves the shampoo cap unscrewed?!”)

Remember this: Your friends are not therapists—but they’re also way cheaper than therapy. Use them wisely and with gratitude.

3. A New Vibe for Solo Weekends

This was the hardest: learning to enjoy life on my own. Remember those potato farm weekends that I weaponized as “romantic bonding”? Turns out, those foothills and small-town diners hit differently when it’s just you, your too-energetic dog, and a remarkably ugly cable knit sweater. The difference? Among those solo outings, I started truly listening to myself—my needs, my limits, my dreams that didn’t revolve around “we.”

Bonus tip for any Boise locals: A good float down the river is as great for clearing your head as it is for cooling off.

And Then, Some Joy Came Back

One random Saturday, I showed up to a local concert by myself—unthinkable Leslie behavior just a year earlier. A small indie show with fairy lights strung haphazardly along the edge of a parking lot behind a brewery. The band was a mix of folk and synth that probably only makes sense in a city like Boise. But standing there, surrounded by strangers swaying under the summer sky, I laughed to myself: I felt fine. Maybe even happy.

That’s the golden nugget at the core of heartbreak recovery. You won’t be fine immediately, but one day you’ll climb out of your smoky breakup haze to realize you’ve built a life you actually like. One that isn’t dependent on anyone else. And when the good moments sneak back—joyous, honest little moments of light—you’ll savor them so much more.

The Takeaway: You’re Way Stronger Than You Think

We all think a breakup might kill us. But honestly? It doesn’t. It forces you to evolve. So when you’re knee-deep in dismantled emotions and bad potato metaphors, remember this: the funk isn’t forever. Treat the process like spring-cleaning your soul. Throw out the junk, tidily arrange what’s worth keeping, and make space for the person you're still becoming.

Oh—and if you’re ever in Boise, give yourself a treat. Watch the sun set over the foothills, preferably with a pint from a tiny brewery that smells faintly of IPA and burnt pretzels. It won’t save your love life, but for a moment, it might make you glad to be alive. Which, I promise you, is more than enough.