The Year Everything Fell Apart (And How I Put It Back Together)

Some years sneak by, peaceful as a Sunday morning. Others run you over like it’s Black Friday at the mall in 2006, and you’re standing between a desperate mom and the last TiVo. For me, that year was 2022. It was a year where everything I thought I knew cracked wide open. My career? Unraveling. My relationships? A landmine field. My sense of self-worth? Let's just say it was politely asked to leave the premises.

And yet, like every great rom-com heroine stumbling in Louboutins, I didn’t stay down. Spoiler alert: I pieced myself back together—and not in some cloying Instagram-positivity way but by digging through the rubble, crying copious tears, and learning to laugh at myself (and my pattern of thinking I could "fix" emotionally unavailable men). Let’s get into how I went from my lowest lows to building a better—and shockingly more content—version of myself.

Act One: The Meltdown

Let’s set the scene: January 2022. My boyfriend of three years—a guy my mom once called “so charming he could sell gefilte fish to a vegan”—announced he was leaving. Not just me. He was leaving LA entirely, trading Rodeo Drive for remote life in Montana to, I kid you not, "find inner peace." (At least Carrie’s Big took her to Paris; I didn’t even get lunch at The Ivy.)

On top of that, work was in freefall. My latest screenplay—the one I was sure would finally pull me out of “aspiring writer” purgatory—got shelved indefinitely. The studio passed. Worse, they sent me one of those vague, faux-supportive emails that read like breakup texts: “You’re so talented, just not the right fit at this time.”

I’d lost my love life and my creative mojo in the span of a few months. Nights I used to spend writing or binge-watching shows with my boyfriend? Now spent ugly-crying in bed, powered by Amy’s frozen lasagna and questionable YouTube tarot readers. Call it a rock bottom or my "Eat, Pray, Cry" phase. Either way, I knew staying in that place wasn't an option.

Act Two: The Clean-Up Mission

Step One: Cry It Out Let me be clear: I didn’t “slap on a smile” and keep moving. I let myself fall apart first. Like, full-on mascara-streaked meltdowns. My grandma always said, “Feel it to heal it,” and while this depressed version of me felt more like a side character in a depressing indie film, admitting that I was not okay was the first step.

The script I’d been writing? Tossed out for a while. My ex? Muted on all platforms (note: muting is underrated—less dramatic than blocking but equally satisfying). I wrote in my journal, sometimes angrily, sometimes pathetically, but always honestly. Because step one in the Becca Goldstein Clean-Up Framework? Make room for the mess.

Step Two: Lean on People Who Matter Here’s a Beverly Hills girl confession: I used to think a robust social life meant how many people you knew, not how deeply you knew them. When my life felt like it was unraveling, it turned out it was my core group—my Shabbat dinner squad of parents, siblings, and a handful of friends—who kept me sane. They didn’t offer quick fixes or clichés; they just showed up. If you’re feeling adrift, lean into the people who listen without shoving life hacks down your throat. And if you don’t have those people? Start vetting for quality over quantity ASAP.

Step Three: Reclaim Routine
For a while, the most productive part of my day was debating which Real Housewives cast I’d adopt if they were stranded in a lifeboat with me (Lisa Vanderpump would be handy—she’d manage the situation like a pro). But eventually, I had to get out of bed.

I didn’t “transform” overnight. But I did show up to barre class once a week, even though my muscles screamed louder than Howard Stern during a celebrity feud. I decluttered my place, donating anything that reminded me of my ex—goodbye to the throw pillows “we” picked, hello to a new eucalyptus candle. News flash: small things add up.

Act Three: Who’s That Girl? It’s Me

By the summer of 2022, things started to shift. Not dramatically—there wasn’t a montage where I suddenly became the chicest, most self-actualized version of myself. But I did feel...lighter.

I started saying “yes” to things I’d avoided for years because they felt too far outside my comfort zone. A pottery class. A solo hike up Runyon Canyon at sunrise. A summer fling with a cute neighbor who offered me avocados from his backyard tree. (Fair warning: No longer speaking, but I still think about those avocados.)

In the process, I stopped looking to others—partners, producers, Instagram feeds—to validate me. I focused on what felt real and right for me. As basic as it sounds, there was power in realizing that a 10-minute meditation or belting out Taylor Swift in the car could be just as transformative as my rigid life plans.

Takeaways from the Apocalypse Year

Let me guess—you came here looking for wisdom more specific than “just survive it.” I get it. Here’s what I learned:

  • Embrace the Reset Button Life falling apart feels like the worst thing that can happen—until you realize it’s an opportunity. You’re forced to rebuild, sure, but you get to decide what the new version of you looks like. Don’t default to old patterns. Try something different.

  • Stop Hunting for Closure
    My ex never gave me the perfect “why” I wanted. Sometimes you don’t get a nice, tidy explanation. But waiting for one only means you stay stuck. Closure isn’t a gift someone hands you; it’s something you give yourself.

  • Laugh at the Chaos
    When things were bad, I mean really bad, humor kept me afloat. I watched When Harry Met Sally on a loop, not to analyze Meg Ryan’s romantic trajectory but for her fabulous late-’80s sweater game. Because if you can find a sliver of joy—even in absurd places—it’s like cracking a window in a stuffy room.

And Now?

I’m not going to lie and say everything’s perfect now. My scripts still get passed on sometimes. My dating life? A work-in-progress with highs as thrilling as Nobu sashimi and lows as cringeworthy as “just grabbing drinks” on a first date.

But I’m solid in a way I haven’t felt in years. I love my own company. I trust myself to handle curveballs (even if my first reaction involves tears and Postmates). I’m building my career, one small success at a time.

Would I go back and relive 2022? Absolutely not. Am I glad it happened? Shockingly, yes. Because the year everything fell apart was also the year I realized I could survive more than I ever thought possible. And I bet you can too.

Now go light a eucalyptus candle. You’ve got this.