“There’s always a lesson to be learned,” my mama used to say, usually right before I realized I’d done something utterly boneheaded, like wearing flip-flops to an Alabama thunderstorm or trusting church gossip over facts. And Lord, she was never wrong. But sometimes, the lesson doesn’t come from where you expect it. Sometimes, it’s a fleeting moment, a stranger at the gas station with a knack for wisdom—or in my case, someone who blew into my life faster than a Gulf Coast hurricane and left just as quickly.

The Porch Encounter

Southern porches are where most of life’s unexpected lessons happen. This one kicked off on a muggy June afternoon in Auburn, dripping with heat so oppressive it felt personal. I was sipping a too-sweet tea that my friend swore was "subtle" when a man walked up to our table at Toomer’s Corner. He wasn’t anyone special at first glance—khakis and a tucked polo, the unofficial uniform of Auburn dads everywhere. But then he spoke.

“Mind if I sit for a second?”

Normally, I’d have been annoyed. Strangers aren’t supposed to just join your table like it’s Thanksgiving dinner. But something about him made me pause. He looked road-weary, like he’d just tromped in from some long journey but carried an air of composure that said he knew exactly where he was heading. My friend shot me a skeptical look, but I shrugged. Heat and caffeine make exceptions for quirky strangers.

We never exchanged names. He didn’t ask me where I was from or whether I’d grown up screaming “War Eagle.” Instead, he looked at me like I needed to hear what he was about to say.

“You know,” he began slowly, “it’s not about finding someone who fixes you. You gotta love yourself whole before you ever let someone hold the glue.”

If this sounds vaguely like something you’d read on Pinterest written in script font over a picture of a mountain sunset, you’re not wrong. But for reasons I can only credit to divine timing, the words landed. Hard. I’d just gotten out of one of those post-college relationships—the kind that leaves you second-guessing every choice from the moment you said “hello” to the second you blocked them on socials.

I’d spent months sifting through my mistakes, obsessing over who could have done what differently, and generally feeling like the problem was ME. Maybe it’s the recovering Southern Methodist in me, but I carried guilt like it owed me rent.

“You have to hold the glue,” he repeated, then tilted his head as if to emphasize the truth in his words.

In hindsight, we only spoke for four minutes, tops. He finished his unsolicited TED Talk, tipped his cap, and left before I could think to grill him for more. What he said wasn’t groundbreaking, but it didn’t need to be. See, the best advice often isn’t something new—it’s what you’ve always known but needed someone else to remind you, preferably while they’re wearing khakis and a cryptic smile.

Breakups Are Only Half the Story

Here’s the thing about relationships: nobody talks enough about what happens after they end. Sure, there are breakup playlists (cue Taylor Swift), gallons of ice cream, and friends who’ll lecture you about how “he wasn’t good enough for you anyway.” (Side note: We all know this isn’t helpful at the time.) What folks don’t tell you is that the hardest work begins after the crying stops. That’s the point when you have to face yourself.

Do you know how many nights I stayed up asking what I could have said differently or wondering if I just wasn’t lovable enough? More than I’ll admit in polite company. But that stranger’s words hit home: How on earth could I expect someone else to “fix” me when I didn’t even know which parts of me were broken?

It’s like when you spot a crack in the ceiling, and you think, “Oh, I’ll just patch it up,” but then you find out the house’s foundation might be compromised. Except instead of a builder, I had a $12 water bottle metaphorically clogging leaks while leaving the real repairs for later.

So I started doing the work.

Building Your Internal Porch

For anyone who’s been through it, let me be clear: building yourself up post-relationship is daily work. It’s awkward, occasionally boring, but necessary. And here’s what I learned along the way:

  1. Treat yo’ self like you’re dating you.
    I’m not saying take yourself to fancy dinners every Thursday (though, why not?). It’s more about learning your own quirks—what makes you tick? What lights you up? Trust me, a quiet Saturday walking through an antique store or blasting the Indigo Girls in your car can teach you more about what your soul craves than any relationship quiz.

  2. Stop waiting for “the fixer-upper.”
    Remember, a relationship isn’t HGTV where you show up hoping someone will turn your broken bits into a farmhouse chic masterpiece. You aren’t incomplete. You’re a whole, perfectly-flawed human who can patch their own drywall. Love comes to enhance, not repair.

  3. Accept that discomfort is the cost of clarity.
    Real healing starts with uncomfortable “aha” moments, like when you spot old patterns in new relationships or recognize you’ve been the one holding back. Growth always feels messy because it is messy.

  4. Pivot away from repair mode.
    Sometimes we get so busy “fixing ourselves” we forget that personal growth isn’t just a never-ending checklist. Learn when to stop tinkering and just live. You’re not some Pinterest DIY project waiting for completion—you’re already perfect in progress.

A Porch-Swing Epiphany

More than a year after that stranger tilted my perspective, I found myself sitting on a porch swing in Montgomery, not unlike the one where it all started. But this time, I wasn’t cradling a cup of too-sweet tea or wondering whether anyone would ever love my particular brand of messy. I was just there, embracing stillness and the clicks of cicadas reminding me that life, like porches, isn’t meant to be rushed.

The stranger’s lesson stuck because it wasn’t just advice—it was an invitation to slow down and hold myself accountable. And these days? I’m a little less focused on “getting it right” and more invested in showing up for myself.

So if you’re reading this, sipping your metaphorical tea and wondering what’s next after the heartbreak, let me offer this scrap of wisdom from one Southern storyteller to another: You’ve got all the glue you’ll ever need. Trust yourself enough to hold it.