Let me take you back to late 2022, a year that felt like I was living in a soap opera written by sadistic screenwriters with too much time on their hands. It wasn’t the kind of dramatic year that builds character or makes for great Instagram captions. No, it was the kind that wrecks plans, relationships, and your sense of peace, leaving you with nothing but lessons and a hard-earned sense of humor. If you’ve ever found yourself on the emotional equivalent of a rollercoaster, buckle up—I’ve got some wisdom for you. And maybe a laugh or two.
The Year of Falling Apart (Or, My Opinion on Rock Bottom)
They say, “When it rains, it pours,” but no one warns you about the intervals when it hails. For me, it all started in January, when life decided to throw a multi-level boss battle at me. My long-term relationship came to a sputtering, messy end, my father’s health took a sharp decline, and the novel I’d poured my soul into was rejected in the most soul-crushingly polite “not for us” emails imaginable.
Picture this: I’m standing on the Metro platform at Gallery Place, juggling heartbreak, family worry, and professional disappointment, all while realizing I’m out of Hot Tamales—the last thing holding me together that week. It was in that moment, staring at the glaring red brake lights of an incoming train, that I thought, Is this my villain origin story? Or my redemption arc?
The truth is, it wasn’t either—not yet, anyway. It was just life asking me, “How bad do you want to make it through this?” And if you’re in that place right now, let me tell you: you can. But first, you have to pick yourself up. Slowly. Humorously. With snacks.
Step 1: Accept the Chaos (and Maybe Laugh at It)
Here’s the thing: when life comes at you like a Simone Biles tumbling routine, flawless and relentless, the sooner you embrace what’s happening, the less power it has over you. That funny-but-brutal breakup showed me that no amount of “good vibes only” Instagram quotes could save me from a reality check. Ours was a love story that made sense on paper but ran out of steam in practice. We were great at brunch dates but terrible at being there for each other when it actually counted. One day, I realized I was doing more emotional heavy-lifting than a CrossFit trainer, and it was time to let go.
And here’s the kicker: breaking up isn’t always the hard part. Hanging onto the fantasy of what you thought something could be? That’s what messes you up. Letting go of any illusion is like trying to board a moving train: you have to keep it quick, clean, and maybe scream a little.
Don’t fight the storm. Raise your metaphorical umbrella, and if no one’s looking, try to dance in it. (Or at least survive until the clouds clear.)
Step 2: Rebuild with What You’ve Got
After any personal implosion, you’re left with two options: wallow in the rubble or start collecting bricks to rebuild. I’ll admit—I spent the better part of February doing both. My mom, who is never short on honesty, called me one day with a brutally perfect piece of advice. “Marcus,” she said in her thick Jamaican accent, “you can cry a little, but fix yuh house too. You can’t sit in it bawling while the roof leaking.”
Translation? Feel your feels. Then get busy repairing your life.
Not all transitions have to be groundbreaking to be meaningful. Sometimes, the key to stabilizing is focusing on what’s manageable: - I bought a candle that smelled like optimism (well, officially “white sage and eucalyptus,” but you catch my drift). Cheesy? You bet. Did it feel like a small step toward calming my frazzled soul? Absolutely. - I finally joined a community boxing gym a friend had been raving about. Boxing, it turns out, is great for releasing both tension and dormant childhood Mortal Kombat fantasies. - I leaned on my siblings more. There’s something humbling about walking into your older sister’s house, scarfing fried plantains, and saying, “I need advice, and possibly a hug.”
Little routines, small changes, and a willingness to reach out to others can be surprisingly effective at reorienting you when life feels out of control.
Step 3: When in Doubt, Keep Moving Forward
March and April were blurry but better. I threw myself into my work, not because I wanted to ignore my personal life, but because I needed an identity outside of “guy-who’s-having-a-meltdown.” That’s when I remembered something my grandfather once told me: “Life nah wait for nobody, yuh hear me?” Translation: Life doesn’t stop, not for you, not for anyone. You can’t press pause.
So, I made a decision to keep showing up—even on the days I didn’t feel like it. Whether I was working on my next novel idea (spoiler alert: it’s no Pulitzer contender, but it’s honest) or making time to help my mom with my dad’s care, progress was less about perfection and more about… just surviving the next 10 minutes. And then the one after that.
The other way I kept moving forward? By finding pockets of joy. I’d forgotten what it felt like to laugh genuinely (sadness does that to us), but when I rewatched Superbad for the first time in years, I belly-laughed so hard I forgot my current troubles, even if only briefly. Joy is a good partner when you’re fumbling your way through the hard days—let it in when you can.
Step 4: Finding Lessons (the Hard Way)
By the time summer rolled around, I wasn’t “fixed,” but I wasn’t broken anymore either. The lesson I didn’t see coming was this: Falling apart doesn’t mean you’re a failure. It just means you’ve reached your limit for how much can stay the same. And that’s not a bad thing. It might even be necessary.
Because when you strip away the parts of your life that no longer serve you or challenge you in a positive way, you uncover what really matters. It’s like spring cleaning but for your soul.
For me, that meant rekindling my creative spark. By spending weekends at my favorite indie bookstore in D.C., tuning into old reggae classics, and reconnecting with what brought me joy as a kid, life started to feel lighter again.
Conclusion: Breakdowns as Breakthroughs
Here’s the thing about timelines: They’re made up. Healing doesn’t care about your calendar. Growth rarely follows even the most well-thought-out plans. Some lessons take months to learn; others click only after one loud moment of clarity over a plate of jerk chicken.
The year everything fell apart wasn’t fun. It didn’t make for a cute rom-com (trust me—zero meet-cutes here). But it did teach me that I’m a lot sturdier than I thought. And if you’re in your own version of 2022, just know: You’re sturdier than you think, too.
The secret? Keep showing up for yourself. Keep laughing when you can and crying when you need to. And, above all, remember: falling apart doesn’t mean it’s over. It’s just the beginning of learning how to put yourself back together, piece by beautiful piece.
