The Challenge I Didn’t Think I’d Survive

Intro: Flirtatious Beginnings, Sobbing Endings

I’ve faced off with waves tall enough to make seasoned surfers bow out. I’ve plumbed the depths of tide pools teeming with creatures that look like they belong in an alien chess match. I once even survived a questionable sushi date in Costa Rica that involved a fish tank, a mariachi band, and a “surprise special” I’ll never un-taste. But none of those prepared me for the emotional tsunami of a breakup that knocked me completely off my feet.

We’re talking the kind where your playlist reorganizes itself into Adele ballads and you seriously Google, “Can too much crying dehydrate you?” (FYI: It can’t. I checked.) I didn’t know that losing someone I thought was my forever would feel exactly like being tumble-dried by life—with extra lint. But as much as that breakup tested me, it also shaped me. So let’s talk about what happens when love decides to pull a disappearing act and leaves you wondering, “Am I actually going to survive this?”

Spoiler: You will. And you’ll be better for it. Here’s how I crawled out of the emotional abyss—sunburned, salty, but somehow stronger.

The Wave That Hits You

Breakups, I’ve realized, are a lot like being smashed by a rogue wave. One minute, you’re standing on the shore thinking, “This is fine; I’ve got this,” and the next minute, you’re choking on saltwater, wondering why you didn’t see it coming. The crazy thing is that in both cases, the signs were probably there.

My breakup wave arrived on a Wednesday morning with the six little words no one likes to hear: “I just don’t think it’s working.” For me, it wasn’t just the breakup itself; it was the sudden, sharp collapse of this vision I’d built in my head—sunday coffee runs, oceanfront apartment, shared Spotify account (which, honestly, was more sacred than marriage some days).

At first, I went into emotional triage. Cry, text a friend, cry again, burn sage in my apartment like I was not only ejecting bad vibes but performing an exorcism. While my mom, ever-practical, reminded me that “nothing ends unless something better is coming,” I was too busy replaying every cringy memory of the breakup conversation, a mortifying highlight reel that hit me at bedtime, mid-traffic, or even at the farmer’s market.

Getting Out of the Tidepool of Doom

When the reality of the breakup set in, I hit what I call the Tidepool of Doom phase. It’s where you stay stuck, cycling through slippery feelings and sharp-edged self-doubt like the emotional critters in an actual tidepool. Thoughts like “Was this all my fault?” or “What’s wrong with me?” became frequent visitors, as if I wasn’t already hosting enough sadness to rival a Nicholas Sparks movie marathon.

But here’s the thing about tidepools: they’re beautiful, complex ecosystems. It’s just that sometimes, you’re looking so closely at the cracks and crevices, you forget to see the beauty. Slowly, I started crawling out, figuring out that surprises—both good and bad—are part of life’s natural rhythm.

Some tips I learned along the way:
- Set Tiny Goals: Some days a “goal” was as small as plucking my overgrown eyebrows or drinking coffee without sobbing into it. (Progress is progress, okay?)
- Move Your Body: There’s nothing like jogging along the beach to help you process your grief, even if my pace was less “runner’s high” and more “person chased by bees.” The salty air, the rhythm of waves—it reminded me that nothing stays stuck forever, not even heartbreak.
- Catch the Big Picture: I started journaling again, crafting emo poetry that no one but my cat will ever read. Writing made me feel like I was slowly building an escape raft out of emotional driftwood.

Surviving the Siren Songs of Nostalgia

A month post-breakup, I hit a major test: His Instagram. The land of thirst traps and “Look-how-much-fun-I’m-having-without-you” posts. Opening his account felt as reckless as swimming during high tide. And yet, I couldn’t help it. I was like an extra in a Greek myth, drawn toward the siren song of my ex’s curated highlight reel.

But here’s what the marine biologist in me knows: Filters distort reality. That tropical vacation picture I stared at for half an hour? I reminded myself that Instagram posts never show background details like missed flights or sunburns. No one ever brags about those blistered, unsexy truths. The tool for survival here is simple but not easy: unfollow or mute. Not to be petty, but because the best way to heal is to stop scratching at the wound every time you scroll.

Lessons in Letting Go

Healing isn’t linear. It’s not even circular; it’s more of a squiggly line, like the ones I used to draw in grade school. There were days when I felt like I was Beyonce (post-Jay Z scandal, not pre-Beychella), and others where I barely mustered the energy to do laundry.

But breakups, like low tides, reveal treasure beneath the surface. As the immediate pain faded, I realized:
- I learned to love my own company. Saturday nights weren’t scary solo affairs; they became glorious Netflix binges with a bottle of wine and a heap of blankets.
- I picked up hobbies I’d left behind, like sketching sea life and exploring San Diego’s lesser-known surf spots.
- I discovered that loving someone else doesn’t mean shrinking yourself to fit their mold. Relationships work when both people can bring their whole selves to the table. (Or the beach picnic.)

We tend to think of breakups as endings, but they’re often the starting point for something even better—a recalibration, if you will.

Final Takeaway: Surf’s Up

To say that breakups “make you stronger” feels like the verbal equivalent of handing someone a wet paper towel to clean up a water main break. But it’s true in this wonky, infuriating way. You surface with a better understanding of who you are—and what you’re worth.

The journey isn’t about replacing what you lost or rushing into another pair of arms. It’s about finding ways to reconnect with the most important person: you. The person who can paddle through life’s rough surf. The person who has the guts to ride out heartbreak and still show up to the beach for another round.

So next time you’re standing on a metaphorical shore wondering if you can take that oncoming wave, let me assure you—you totally can. You might get salt in your nose, and it won’t always be pretty, but trust me: The water’s just fine.