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

“It’s fine. I’m fine. Everything’s fine.” If this phrase was the unofficial mantra of 2020, then it became my personal slogan not too long ago. It was the year where everything came unglued—my relationships, my career plan, even the vintage coffee maker I’d proudly rescued from an overpriced Wynwood thrift shop (RIP, cafetera). It wasn’t just one big catastrophe; it was a series of little disappointments that snowballed into a “what fresh hell is this?” calendar year.

But here’s the thing: that collapse? It became the best thing that ever happened to me. Not to sound like every inspirational Instagram post, but it taught me to stop chasing perfection, appreciate life’s quirks, and lean into my own resilience. So, from the wreckage of that year, I scooped up the pieces and built something better. If you’re feeling your own world wobble, here’s a mix of honest reflection, unfiltered lessons, and hard-won humor to remind you that you, too, can piece it all back together.

When Your Love Life Becomes a Telenovela

It started (as these stories often do) with a breakup. One moment, I thought I’d found my forever person. The next, I was realizing we were living two entirely different novelas. His featured a laid-back vibe and questionable level of ambition, while mine relied heavily on plot twists and “what’s your five-year plan?” type energy.

Here’s what they don’t tell you about good breakups: there’s still sometimes sadness and questions, even when you know it’s the right thing. I went through the greatest hits of the post-breakup playlist (hello, Marc Anthony and Adele), cried into many bowls of pastelito-flavored ice cream (yes, it exists and yes, it’s curative), and stalked his Instagram for longer than I’d like to admit. But after that grief, there was space—space to think, space to move on, space to, I don’t know, finally start that salsa dance class I’d been putting off. For the first time, I was rediscovering me without tethering my happiness to anyone else.

Takeaway: Love feels less like a Disney movie and more like the season finale of Jane the Virgin. Things might blow up, but you’re always writing the next episode. Rewrite with care.

Work Woes and What Came Next

Breakups, as it turns out, rarely travel alone. A week post-split, I was sitting across from my editor, trying not to read too much into phrases like “budget cuts” and “scaling back.” Spoiler: my column about Miami’s cultural gems didn’t make the cut.

Unemployed, single, and surrounded by a town full of people salsa-dancing at restaurants like nothing was wrong, I felt, for lack of better phrasing, very lost. My mom came to the rescue, as Cuban moms tend to, with unsolicited advice wrapped in love. She sat me down, handed me a plate of maduros (never have a heart-to-heart on an empty stomach), and said something I’ll never forget: “You are not what happens to you. You are how you respond.”

So, I responded. I freelanced for Spanish-language blogs. I wrote short stories between café con leches. Slowly, painfully, thrillingly, I started building a different version of my career—one that made less money at first but left more space for writing that mattered to me.

Takeaway: Your job might define how you spend your time, but it doesn’t decide your worth. Take a step back if you need to, even if the road forward feels blurry.

When Self-Improvement Becomes Self-Discovery

Some people lean into yoga or meditation during hard times. I leaned into reggaetón. Dancing became therapy, and Bad Bunny became my therapist. I needed something loud, chaotic, and unapologetically alive to shake me out of the sad haze I was carrying around. Solo Friday nights in my tiny Miami apartment were spent creating my own dance floors under string lights, blasting music, singing off-tune, and reconnecting with fun.

And here’s what surprised me the most: I liked hanging out with myself. Turns out, I’m really good company. I stopped feeling the need to fill silence with someone else's voice and realized that the “holes” I’d once wanted other people to fill (romantically or professionally) were actually just opportunities to love myself better.

In those moments, I returned to the things I’d loved growing up that once made me feel safe and inspired: writing little poems in Spanish, perfecting my abuela’s empanada recipe, even pressing pause on achieving and just being for a while. I didn’t have to have it all figured out to be happy. I could just sit in the mess and let it teach me what I needed.

Takeaway: Growth doesn’t always look like stability or leveling up; sometimes, it just means coming back to yourself while the world feels shaky.

How to Rebuild One Tiny Step at a Time

Not to sugarcoat it, learning how to rebuild is frustrating. I tried shortcuts, like signing up for online “hustle harder” courses (no, thank you), and having one-too-many optimistic runs at talking to someone who wasn’t fully healed from their last breakup. Each time, I learned a little more about what I needed—and what I didn’t. Spoiler: I didn’t need external validation; I needed tiny steps toward a life I actually liked.

  1. Start imperfection-friendly hobbies. Take up something you know you’ll stink at initially—ceramics, karaoke, cooking without a Google recipe search—just to remind yourself that bad beginnings still lead to growth. For me, it was salsa dancing (turns out rhythm is a journey, not a destination).

  2. Upgrade your comfort rituals. I discovered that my morning cafecito ritual (sugar included) was sacred. Prepping it became a daily moment of joy that reminded me I could make magic, even alone.

  3. Say “yes,” but not to everything. I stopped mindlessly agreeing to plans that drained me. Instead, I let myself enjoy the freedom of intuition-driven choices: stay in or go out, travel or rest, figure things out later—no pressure.

  4. Let people in. Slowly. After learning a boatload about myself, I started opening up again socially, romantically, imperfectly. And when it clicked with someone—whether it was over plantain nachos or a shared podcast obsession—I could enjoy the moment without trying to predict the future.

Takeaway: Rebuild at your pace, not someone else’s timeline. The good stuff doesn’t need to be rushed.

The End of the Beginning

That year where everything fell apart? It wasn’t some glitzy story wrapped up with bows and success clichés. By year's end, I wasn't completely healed or thriving in the Hollywood sense. But you know what? I’d stopped holding my breath waiting for the next bad thing. I’d relearned how to trust myself and my journey—not the destination.

If you’re staring at a pile of metaphorical (or literal) pieces of your life wondering how or when they’ll fit back together, take a deep breath and remember this: you’re allowed to feel the mess. You’re allowed to take your time. You’re allowed to make mistakes. But most importantly, you’re allowed to rise—not because you have to, but because little by little, it feels good to.

So, here’s to broken years, dancing barefoot in your apartment, and realizing you’re still writing your story’s next chapter. The year everything fell apart? It’ll eventually remind you what really matters—and what doesn’t.