It started with a text message—short, abrupt, and life-changing: “We need to talk.” If there’s a more ominous opening to a year than the breakup talk on a rainy Thursday in January, I haven’t experienced it. By February, my carefully built life had taken a turn best described as the emotional equivalent of a Jenga tower collapsing after the wrong block gets pulled. My relationship of three years ended. My job became, shall we say, “uncertain.” And even my favorite neighborhood bagel spot switched owners, turning the everything bagel into a metaphor for my life: missing some vital ingredients.

But as much as it felt like the year everything fell apart, it became an unexpected boot camp for pulling myself back together—and, dare I say, for becoming a better version of me. So, here it is: my messy, slightly magical guide to surviving the year from hell and stepping out of it a little shinier.

The Art of the Breakdown (It’s Okay to Fall Apart)

Let’s be real: when things start crumbling, society loves to hit you with those “just focus on the good stuff” platitudes. But I’ll be honest—it’s really hard to “focus on gratitude” when you’re tearing up in the Target snack aisle because you and your ex bought a waffle maker here once. (Fun fact: no one uses waffle makers as often as they say they will.)

Instead, I gave myself permission to embrace the free fall. Crying over a sentimental Spotify playlist? Let it happen—it’s cheaper than therapy and weirdly cathartic. Splurging on takeout for one because you can’t bear the thought of cooking? Do it. Watch an embarrassing amount of prestige dramas? Say hello to your new emotional support stream.

The takeaway is this: messiness is part of the process. Your heartbreak, your job uncertainty, your stressed spiral into “will my life ever get on track again” moments—they’re not signs you’ve failed. They’re signs that you’re human. When things are breaking down, you’re clearing space to rebuild. Lean in.

Self-Discovery, One Slightly Awkward Step at a Time

Post-breakup Julian had to relearn what it felt like to be just Julian. That’s a strange thing about long-term relationships—your identity gets braided together with someone else’s, and suddenly you’re left wondering what the “you” part even looks like.

Step one: try a thing you’ve always wanted to do—but couldn’t, wouldn’t, or didn’t. For me, that was taking a dance class. More specifically, a modern dance class at this artsy studio in Williamsburg where everyone seemed to have either blue hair or opinions about Bauhaus architecture. Initially, I looked like an overcaffeinated scarecrow attempting choreography, but there was something liberating about being bad at something in front of strangers. No one cared. I was just a guy trying to move with some kind of grace. And that was the beauty—you remember how to show up for yourself without needing an audience, a partner, or a plan.

Other discoveries that came from diving into the discomfort:
- Realizing Trader Joe’s dumplings are a perfectly acceptable dinner three nights in a row.
- Taking solo walks and talking to yourself under your breath does not make you weird; it makes you introspective.
- Becoming the friend who hosts wine-and-cheese nights means people assume you’re thriving, when you’re really just trying to mask the chaos with Brie.

Building the Blueprint: What Do You Actually Want?

Here’s a question I avoided asking for years in my relationship: “Am I really happy, or am I just on autopilot?” When breakup dust settles, you’re forced to reckon with questions like this. Oftentimes, the answers are uncomfortable, like realizing you stayed in a situation that felt safe but wasn’t fulfilling.

Once the lattes with friends and venting sessions dried up, I had a serious talk with myself (over a glass of Pinot, naturally). I wasn’t just rebuilding a relationship status; I was rethinking the architecture of my whole life:
- Friendships: Am I truly fostering meaningful connections, or am I defaulting to the easier, surface-level ones?
- Career: Am I working toward something I care about, or am I chasing a paycheck?
- Love: What do I actually want in a partner—and what do I want to offer?

The answers came in bits and pieces, often in places I didn’t expect. A conversation with my barber about his 35-year marriage. A poetry reading in Bushwick where I realized I had been sleeping on my own creative ambitions. Random Tuesdays when journaling uncovered more truth than I was ready to face. Bit by bit, I started sketching out my blueprint for what rebuilding me would look like.

Flirting with Life Again: The Joy of New Beginnings

There’s a moment, somewhere in the middle of the healing process, where you find yourself flirting—not just with other people, but with life itself again. For me, it was small at first: dancing down an empty subway platform because Spotify chose to bless me with an old Tribe Called Quest track. Writing a short story that had been brewing since college. Casually chatting with strangers at a Brooklyn street fair while eating an aggressively overpriced churro.

What I learned in those micro-moments was this: the world doesn’t end when things fall apart. In fact, that’s when it often starts to bloom. And yes, I eventually dipped my toes back into the dating scene—but I didn’t go rushing into it like someone chasing a Hallmark movie ending. Instead, I took it slow. I asked myself what felt good, rather than what looked “successful.”

That simple philosophy—what feels true to me now—is what led me to someone kind, complicated, and surprising. But more importantly, it led me back to my own joy. Because nothing, not even a great love, compares to the moment you realize you’re genuinely happy flying solo.

Lessons from the Year of Chaos

So, if you’re in your own year of everything-falling-apart-ness, here’s what I hope you’ll take away:
1. Let yourself fall apart. It’s messy. It’s hard. But it’s necessary to clear out what doesn’t serve you.
2. Get a little weird. Dance terribly; take yourself to a museum alone; try mediation even if the app narration makes you laugh. Growth hides in strange places.
3. Ask better questions. Happiness lives in the answers to the things we avoid asking, like, “Am I showing up for me?”
4. Flirt with life. There’s joy waiting for you—even in the cracks, even in the bad days. It’ll find you when you’re ready, or maybe when you’re eating a churro.
5. Trust the rebuild. It won’t be quick or perfect, but it will be worth it.

Breaking down isn’t the end of the story. It’s just the start of a really compelling rewrite. And trust me—your next chapter might just surprise you.