“Girl, run!” That’s what my best friend hollered from the phone, her voice a mix of panic and disbelief. It was a phrase she jokingly reserved for my most disastrous misadventures, from the time I tried to cut my own bangs (spoiler: don’t) to that one spring I thought I could learn to surf after watching Blue Crush. But this time, her advice wasn’t hyperbolic. This time, it was about love—or rather, the absolute unraveling of it.

Let me set the stage: Charleston. Summer. A sweltering August evening where the air hung so heavy you could practically feel it pressing into your skin. There I was, standing in a parking lot after another argument with my then-boyfriend. The sky was tinged pink, but no golden-hour filter could romanticize the messy scene playing out. I was holding my keys like a lifeline, heart pounding, and head spinning with the realization that my supposed “forever” had an expiration date—and it was right now.

What followed was the messiest, funniest, and most unexpectedly empowering breakup I never thought I’d survive. Spoiler: I did. Let me tell you how.

Act One: The Parking Lot Confessional

Every romance novel has a climactic scene, and apparently, my love life decided the Food Lion parking lot was it. After weeks (okay, months) of feeling like I was shrinking myself to fit into a relationship that didn’t quite work, things reached their breaking point. What started as a minor disagreement spiraled into one of those endless fights where every sentence starts with “And another thing…” You know the kind.

But then, he said it. The thing. The sentence that shoved me, trembling and panicked, right off the emotional cliff I’d been teetering on for too long. “Maybe you’re just too difficult to love.”

Y’all. I froze. My stomach dropped faster than the plot twist in Get Out. Too difficult to love? The audacity! Before I knew it, the words jumped out of me like they’d been waiting their whole life for this moment: “If I’m too difficult, then you’re just not the man for the job.”

Now, let me be clear. I wasn’t some brave, fierce woman claiming her worth in the heat of the moment. At least, not entirely. The words only felt brave after they left my mouth, and let’s be honest—I kind of wanted to throw up after I said them.

Act Two: Deciding to Leave the Boat… Before It Sinks

Breaking up is like being on a sinking ship. You see the water rising, the boat wobbling, and you know (deep down) it’s going under. But still, you hesitate to jump. Because even a sinking ship feels safer than the wide, uncertain waves of the unknown.

For months, I’d convinced myself to “stay and fix it.” Maybe it’d get better if I stopped voicing my needs. Maybe he’d change if I gave it more time. Maybe I wasn’t trying hard enough, working on myself enough, compromising enough. Enough. That word lodged itself in my throat more nights than I care to admit.

If you’ve been in this situation, you know the truth: jumping ship is terrifying. There’s no guarantee of a lifeboat waiting for you. But clinging to a broken boat will only pull you under with it. That parking lot became my decision point. I had to jump.

Act Three: Surviving the Fallout (And Your Friends’ Opinions)

After a breakup, well-meaning friends will offer advice that ranges from solid gold to plain bonkers. Some will tell you to “date around and forget him,” while others insist you need to “focus on healing.” Meanwhile, your aunt’s on Facebook DMing you articles about healing crystals and self-love affirmations.

I say, pick what works but take it all with a grain of salt. Here’s what helped me:

  • Cry it out: Ever tried holding in tears? Feels like trying to cork a shaken bottle of champagne—messy and doomed. I gave myself permission to ugly cry, throw on Lemonade by Beyoncé, and let the messy emotions roll through.
  • Create distance: It’s hard (okay, nearly impossible) to properly heal when you’re still creeping on their Instagram stories. Block them, mute them, unfollow—whatever you need to feel less tempted to revisit the wreckage.
  • Call your crew: There’s nothing like late-night phone calls with friends who know you best. They’ll remind you of the amazingness you forgot about while losing yourself in the wrong relationship.
  • Avoid rebound shenanigans: Look, I know a fresh fling can feel tempting, but let me tell you—trying to mend a tender heart with a wild situationship is like patching drywall with duct tape. It holds for a minute, but the cracks will show.

Act Four: Rebuilding Yourself, One Layer at a Time

In the lowcountry where I grew up, erosion is a real thing. Rivers and tides slowly chip away at the marshlands, which can leave the coastline feeling fragile and uneven. But what’s amazing is how, over time, it rebuilds itself—layer by layer, blade by blade.

Breakups can feel like emotional erosion, right? They strip away parts of you until you’re left wondering what’s even left. But I learned something during those months post-parking-lot confessional: endings create space for regrowth.

I started putting myself first in ways I hadn’t dared to before. I finally signed up for that pottery class I’d always been curious about (turns out, I have zero talent for wheel-throwing, but I loved it anyway). I planned solo coffee outings to this dreamy spot near the marsh, letting my thoughts drift as long-legged egrets waded nearby. I got comfortable with my own company—the quiet, delicious space of not being tethered to anyone else’s opinion of me.

And little by little, I reminded myself of the thing my ex could never take away: my worth. I was too “difficult” for him, sure. But the right love wouldn’t find me too much—it’d be ready and willing to meet me where I am.

Act Five: Empowerment in the Aftermath

Surviving heartbreak isn’t about flipping some magical switch and waking up one day completely healed. It’s a messy, stumbling process full of days when you feel on top of the world—and others when you crumble at the sound of “your” song playing in the background of a coffee shop.

But here’s the secret: every step, no matter how small, is progress. Each tear shed and boundary set moves you closer to the strongest, most resilient version of yourself. The version who knows that being “too much” for someone else doesn’t mean you’re unlovable—it means the right person hasn’t poured into your cup yet.

If you’re in your own parking-lot moment right now, let me just say this: you’ve got this. You’re capable of jumping ship, of surviving heartbreak, and of rebuilding a life—and love—worthy of you.

And while you’re at it, let’s retire the idea of being “too difficult to love.” Because honey, the only thing too difficult here was wasting my time on someone who didn’t see what I brought to the table. Here’s to flipping that table over entirely … and pulling up a new chair, just for me.