I spent my 30th birthday in a way no one dreams of: crying into a Tupperware of leftover arroz con pollo, contemplating the one-two punch of a breakup and a layoff. If this moment were a movie, it might’ve been scored with a sad bolero, complete with rain streaking down the windows. Except this wasn’t a movie, and I wasn’t some leading man at the height of noble heartbreak. I was just a guy in sweatpants wondering how everything fell apart—and what the heck I was going to do to fix it.

They say bad news comes in threes. I got mine in twos, but they were big enough to count double: my partner of three years decided they needed "space" (a word that suddenly felt colder than Chicago in January), and a month later, my job was “restructured” right out from under me. The universe clearly wanted me to redefine myself, but all I wanted was for the universe to stay out of my business.

Here’s the thing about life implosions: when the dust settles, you start to see what needs rebuilding. And maybe, just maybe, what you don’t. This is how I spent a year walking through the wreckage—and learning how to piece myself back together.

Stage 1: The Collapse (a.k.a., "Why Me?")

When life falls apart, your first instinct is—let's be honest—a full-on pity party. Mine came complete with late-night binges of “The Office,” where Michael Scott’s dysfunction felt oddly cathartic, and the internal soundtrack of Marc Anthony’s "Vivir Mi Vida" playing ironically in my head.

Breakups, especially those you didn't see coming, can rock you in ways you didn't anticipate. It wasn’t just the loss of a person; it was the future plans, the tiny rituals—the Saturday morning cafecito runs, the private jokes you thought would be with you forever. Pair that with unemployment, and you're suddenly untethered in a way that makes you question everything, from your value to your ability to keep your basil plants alive (spoiler: I couldn't).

It’s okay to stew in it for a bit. But at some point, I realized that while I couldn’t change getting dumped or downsized, I could figure out who I wanted to be next.

Stage 2: (Over)Analysis Mode: What Went Wrong?

I’m a history nerd—ask me about colonial Latin America, and I’ll give you more info than you ever wanted to know. So naturally, I approached my heartbreak and career failure like a historian: searching for patterns, missing context, and lessons. Why did my ex pull away? Why had my career stalled? Could I have written a different ending?

While retrospection is powerful, there’s a fine line between learning from the past and turning it into a toxic Airbnb, one where you live rent-free but pay in endless self-blame. My grandmother used to say, “Lo pasado, pasado,” or basically, “Let the past stay in the past.” That became my motto. The future? That was up to me.

(Though, admittedly, I did send my ex one too many “hey, just found your t-shirt” texts before I let them go. Nobody’s perfect.)

Stage 3: Putting Myself Back in the Driver’s Seat

Once the grief fog lifted, I decided to focus on what I could control. My ex and my old boss didn’t hold the monopoly on my narrative—or my happiness. It was time to rewrite the story. Here’s what worked for me:

1. Taking Small Wins Seriously
For weeks after the breakup, even brushing my teeth felt like an accomplishment. But every small win started to translate into bigger ones: cooking real meals, actually leaving the house for groceries, responding to texts I’d ignored. The momentum built slowly, almost sneakily, until suddenly, life felt a bit more manageable.

2. Finding My Squad
There’s a special corner of heaven for friends who show up when you’re a mess. Mine came with zero judgment and sometimes a bottle of wine. Whether it was venting over FaceTime or dragging me to Little Havana to dance, they reminded me I wasn’t navigating this chaos alone. Lean on the people who make your world brighter—they’re your safety net when everything else feels shaky.

3. Reconnecting with My Culture
After a decade of chasing career milestones, I’d forgotten the joy of standing still. I found myself reconnecting with the parts of my Cuban upbringing that shaped me, rediscovering respite in abuela’s recipes, or dancing salsa alone in my living room like my parents did every Friday night. Sometimes, grounding yourself in your roots is the healing the world can’t prescribe.

4. Therapy, Baby!
Years of toxic masculinity might whisper, "Tough it out," but let me tell you—therapy is like calling in an expert for a particularly stubborn IKEA assembly. My therapist helped me name my feelings (turns out, resentment is just sadness in a leather jacket) and untangle the inner narratives I hadn’t realized were tripping me up. If you’ve been considering therapy, this is your sign. Do it.

Stage 4: Rebuilding with Purpose

Slowly but surely, I started reconstructing my life. This time, the blueprint was different—less about checking off arbitrary boxes, more about finding what truly felt like me.

I replaced the job I’d lost with freelance work that centered stories I actually cared about. I wrote about my grandparents’ immigration journey, my parents’ hustle in a new country, my own fits and starts. There’s something freeing in taking the mess of your life and molding it into something beautiful—and I’d forgotten how much I loved storytelling.

As for relationships? I’ve let go of the pressure. These days, I’m less about "finding The One" and more about being the right person for myself. This time, I’ve got standards: no one who ghosts, no one who treats “empathy” as optional, no one who disrespects waitstaff (seriously, that’s a dealbreaker).

Lessons from the Wreckage

Every challenging year teaches us something, even if we’d prefer to learn it in kinder ways. Here’s what I discovered:

  • Control the Controllables. You can’t force someone to stay, or prevent a company from cutting your role, but you can decide how you show up for yourself.
  • It’s Okay to Feel the Feelings. Sadness, anger, nostalgia—lean into them when they knock. But don’t unpack and settle there. You’re more resilient than you think.
  • Growth Isn’t Linear. Some days, you’re thriving; other days, you’re FaceTiming your mom about life's unfairness. Both are valid parts of the process.

If you’re reading this and you, too, feel like your world is a house of cards the wind just knocked over, remember this: you’re not stuck in the ruins. The rebuilding will be messy, sure—but it’ll also be yours. One brick, one day, one small win at a time, you’ll find your rhythm again.

And when you do, it’ll feel even stronger than it was before.