The Day I Almost Gave Up on Love—And Myself

Let me set the scene for you: It was an unseasonably cold January day. The kind of in-between weather no one likes—too chilly for an oversized sweatshirt, too warm for that cute coat I splurged on after Christmas. I was sitting on the edge of my bed, staring at my phone for what felt like the millionth time.

The text in question? About as casual as you could get: “Hey, hope you’re doing okay. Just checking in.” No emojis, no punctuation, no actual substance.

A “checking in” text from someone who, until a week ago, was planning a weekend cabin getaway with me. Romantic movies had lied—where was the groveling? The rain-soaked reconciliation scene? What I got instead was a bland-as-toast message that somehow still smelled faintly of guilt.

This, my friends, was rock bottom—or so I thought. But as it turns out, this particular breakup wasn’t really about tearing down a relationship. It was about rebuilding the parts of myself I’d been ignoring for way too long.

Here’s how I made it through (and maybe how you can, too).

Act I: The Spiral (A Totally Normal Phase)

When I first got that message, my reaction ran the gamut of breakup clichés:
1. Did they secretly hate me the whole time?
2. Should I reply with something cryptic and cutting (à la Jane Austen levels of wit) to make them regret their choices?
3. Or the worst option of all—do I simply ask if we could "talk"?

Spoiler: I didn’t pick any of those options. I chose... none of the above. Mostly because I was too busy deep-diving into all the reasons this person didn’t want me anymore. Was it my inability to watch a horror movie without hiding behind a throw pillow? My honest opinions about their taste in “artistic” pretentious indie films (which were, in fact, pretentious)? Or maybe my persistent hobby of naming stray seagulls at the beach and calling them my “coastal children”?

Breaking up feels like some sort of ridiculously painful pop quiz—one you didn’t study for because you didn’t know you needed to. It demands you analyze every moment, every text, every shared Friday-night pizza order. I felt like I was failing.

Why is it that when someone walks away from us, we immediately assume it’s some flaw or fatal misstep on our part? Pro tip: It’s not always about you. Maybe they were a crappy dancer in the choreography of your life.

Act II: Salty Nights and Deep Breaths

Once I stopped blaming myself for reasons both real and imagined, the next step was letting myself feel the full spectacle of heartbreak. I didn’t try to cheer up right away. In hindsight, this was key.

Here’s your official permission slip: Go on, cry into your ice cream. Rewatch the entire Bridgerton series. Journal the rants, even if they veer into the melodramatic. Sob over the injustice of seeing other happy couples wander down the aisles of Target together while you buy toothpaste alone.

Heartbreak isn’t just emotional; it’s physical. Sleepless nights, appetite changes, that sickly knot in your chest when you run into a mutual friend. It turns out your brain actually processes deep rejection using the same neurological pathways as physical pain. (Yep, science agrees—it’s brutal.)

What helped me?
- Salty AIR therapy. I took long walks by the beach, letting the fresh ocean air do its unofficial magic. Seriously, salt air fixes things. (Is it science? I don’t know. Is it psychology? Sure. Mostly, it’s the belief that seagulls don’t care about your ex, and so neither should you.)
- Feel your feelings. Ignore anyone who says, “You should be over it by now.” Emotions don’t work on a clock, Sandra.
- Pick your people. Whether it’s a best friend or your grandma who swears by her tuna casserole as a magical cure-all, lean on someone. Bonus if they’re good at reframing the ridiculous things only love tends to make us ignore. (“Honestly, Kaylee, you dodged someone who didn’t even rinse their dishes before loading the dishwasher. That’s a red flag.”)

Act III: Rediscovering You

So, there I was about five weeks post-breakup, sitting outside my favorite little café (yes, my parents’ place—it’s still my comfort zone). I was skimming an old journal, sipping a latte, and watching the waves blur with the horizon line. And it hit me.

When had I stopped doing the things that felt most like me? Writing just to write, walking bare-footed along the shore even when it was cold, singing loudly (and badly) to Springsteen songs during road trips? Somehow, in the mess of trying to fit my life and expectations around someone else’s, I’d let go of things that made me feel alive.

Heartbreak, as it turns out, isn’t just about grieving what was lost. It’s an excuse to reclaim yourself.

Here’s what I did:
- I ignored the guilt and splurged on books I thought I’d “outgrown” (shoutout to Anne of Green Gables).
- I signed up for freewriting workshops again—you know, the ones where you spill your soul onto paper and maybe cry a little in front of strangers? Zero regrets.
- I took a weekend alone at the beach where I met this side-splittingly quirky retired artist who taught me how to make driftwood windchimes. She may genuinely be my soulmate.

Breaking up isn’t the end of your story. It’s just a messy middle chapter, where you become the main plot again.

Practical Tips for Surviving Heartbreak

Because I know someone out there needs a bullet-pointed pep talk, here you go:
- Channel your inner detective. Nope, not to stalk their socials—but to rediscover the little joys you set aside during the relationship. An old hobby, a favorite pastime, or something you’ve never tried but always wanted to.
- Redesign your routines. Change where you grocery shop or jog or spend Friday nights. Switch things up to make their ghost harder to see in your familiar places.
- Remind yourself of your worth, repeatedly if necessary. My go-to? Writing reminders on Post-it notes—stuck to random mirrors, journals, whatever. Cringe-worthy? Maybe. But effective.

Act IV: The Comeback (Starring You)

The challenge I didn’t think I’d survive wasn’t just losing someone I wanted to love. It was staring down the quieter truth: I’d stopped loving parts of myself in the process.

Sometimes, life feels like being adrift at sea—without a map, without enough snacks, without sufficient sunscreen. And when you’re forced to paddle back to shore after a storm wrecks your plans? It’s exhausting. But you’re also stronger than the tide.

Turns out, heartbreak isn’t the end of the world. It’s the beginning of a new one. One where your favorite songs, cravings for banana pancakes, and ability to appreciate a perfect sunset don’t fade just because someone else walked away.

The best part? You’re still here. Still you. And the new chapter starting now? It’s one only you get to write.