The Moment Everything Fell Apart (And Came Back Together Somehow)

There’s nothing quite like your first heartbreak when you think you might literally implode from emotional pain. Dramatic? Maybe. Accurate? Absolutely. For me, though, the most intense heartbreak wasn’t at the hands of someone else—it came from facing myself during a crushingly lonely chapter of my life. Cue the scene: a small, gray apartment in Vancouver, me on the hardwood floor in sweatpants that had certainly seen better days, questioning every life decision that had brought me there.

It wasn’t just about romance—I was reeling from a lost relationship, yes, but also from leaving behind a life I thought I’d carefully curated. I had uprooted myself from years of stability to chase a dream, only to crash headfirst into a reality that didn’t play by the rules I’d written in my head. I didn’t think I’d survive it. Spoiler alert: I did, but it took a lot of wrong turns, ugly tears, and comfort food to get there.

Here’s my story—and the lessons I learned along the way. Hopefully, it’ll remind you that when it feels like the world has crumbled into a useless pile of bricks, it’s entirely possible to rebuild something even better.

The Crumble: Heartbreak and Humidity

The end of my first and most serious relationship hit me harder than Tokyo rush hour traffic. One minute, I was in a “seriously discussing what kind of dog we’ll adopt” partnership; the next, we were hurling miscommunications at each other like plates at a Greek wedding. Things ended not with a bang, but with a gut-wrenching whimper: a goodbye was murmured outside a train station in Tokyo, and we vanished into separate crowds.

Fast forward a few months, and I was contemplating a fresh start in Vancouver. Why Vancouver? I’d tell people it was for my PhD, but in truth, I craved the plains of anonymity a foreign city could offer. Ever tried crying loudly on public transportation? It’s way less embarrassing in a country where no one recognizes you. But it wasn’t long before I realized the humid charm of the West Coast couldn’t cure everything.

Without my person—my sounding board, my partner—all my fears and hang-ups had the freedom to haunt me without interruption. I was suddenly faced with questions I’d been expertly avoiding: Who am I apart from someone’s partner? What do I want without a shared future buffering every decision? Worse, I had no brunch buddy to discuss these existential crises with.

Breaking the Myth of “Togetherness”

Pop culture loves to sell us the myth that being in a relationship will fill every weird hole in your heart. From dreamy movie lines (“You complete me”) to love songs that insist we’re nothing without our “other half,” it’s easy to believe that being single equates to existential failure. Journaling with a pint of Häagen-Dazs quickly became my nightly ritual, and if misery were an aesthetic on Pinterest, I was its main character.

But here’s the catch: Real togetherness starts with you. I spent months looking for solace in external sources—friends, a new wardrobe, random noodle joints I reviewed like a Michelin inspector—before realizing that the work I needed to do was entirely internal. No one was coming in to rescue me from myself.

So, how do you find yourself when you feel lost? You stop chasing after someone else’s idea of who you’re supposed to be. I stopped asking, “Would my ex think this is cool?” and started asking, “What do I like?”

  • Surprise hobbies are real joy-bringers: Turns out I love plant stores. Not even buying the plants, just lingering among the ferns like I’m in a Hayao Miyazaki movie. It gave me peace in a way I wasn’t expecting, and I would’ve never discovered it had I not ventured out alone.
  • Start dating yourself: Take yourself to the museum, order dessert just because, and pick out a movie solely based on what you enjoy—even if it’s “Spirited Away” for the hundredth time. Rediscovering simple joys, without needing anyone else’s approval, was oddly empowering.
  • Reframe your solitude: Loneliness can be heavy, but there’s power in leaning into it. There’s a Japanese phrase, 孤独の美学 (kodoku no bigaku), which translates to the “aesthetic of solitude.” I started to romanticize my quiet nights instead of fearing them. A cup of tea, a good book, and light rain became something to savor.

Cultural Lessons on Healing

It hit me, after a particularly reflective solo ramen night, that my struggle wasn’t unique. In almost every culture, there’s evidence of people facing their limits, their heartbreaks, and finding ways to move forward. In Japanese culture, there’s an idea of “kintsugi,” the art of mending broken pottery with gold to highlight the cracks rather than hide them. Instead of fighting the brokenness I felt, I began to imagine it as part of my story. Could I rebuild my life in a way where the flaws mattered less than the beauty in trying again?

Meanwhile, my time in Canada introduced me to the concept of “forest bathing,” or simply finding calm in nature. I’d walk the temperamental trails of Capilano, my cheap umbrella flipping tragically under the rain, and I’d imagine myself like one of the towering pines: battered by storms but still deeply rooted, still standing. Somehow that silly imagery stuck on my worst days.

I didn’t have a clear map for where I was headed, but I figured embracing all those little moments—cracked gold lines and soaked shoes—might help.

Things I Wish Someone Had Told Me

Not every guidebook for healing works for everyone, but here are a few truths I’ve learned (the messy, ugly, post-reality version):

  1. You’re allowed to move at your own pace. Everyone is quick to advise you to “put yourself out there” after a breakup. But if re-entering the dating world feels about as appealing as eating wet cardboard, take the time to focus on something else. Your timeline is yours alone.

  2. Self-discovery is less Pinterest-y than it sounds. Yes, yoga and meditation are wonderful, but so is blasting late-‘90s Britney Spears and doing terrible karaoke in your living room to feel alive again. Let go of perfection.

  3. Pain is proof of growth. When I was at my worst, my therapist told me, “If it hurts this much, it means it mattered.” That simple sentiment gave me a new perspective: My heartbreak wasn’t an ending, but evidence of something meaningful that had existed—and a chance to build something equally meaningful for myself next.

  4. Happiness doesn’t require an audience. There’s no greater victory than realizing your joy doesn’t need to be performative. Learn to find happiness without texting an ex to let them know you’re “doing fine, thanks.”

From Cracks to Masterpieces

I won’t sugarcoat it—heartbreak still sucks, no matter how much gold you try to paint over the shards. But what I can promise is this: You come out of it different. Wiser. More hilarious about your own failures, because by now you’ve survived crying into your soup at a dim sum restaurant solo and overdrafting your account for those new leather boots your ex would’ve hated.

If you asked me today whether I’d want to erase that messy, rainy period of my life, my answer would shock even myself: absolutely not. Every cringe, every tear, every bad decision led me here—to a version of me I never knew existed. One who’s imperfect but growing, flawed but kind to myself. And that version of me? She’s worth sticking around for.

So, if you’re out there on your proverbial hardwood floor at 3 a.m., ugly-crying into your ramen, this is your reminder: You will survive this heartbreak, I promise. And in the process, you’ll discover a kind of love far more permanent—the one that starts with you.