It’s not funny—it's human. That gut-punch feeling when life flips on you when one moment you’re fine (no, better than fine—you’re thriving), and then the next, you’re staring at the wreckage. You try to trace the sequence of events, and how things unraveled so fast, but there’s no clear answer. Just a sudden shift, a brutal drop, and your heart scrambling to keep up.
The breakup was the first crack. And then everything else started crumbling in slow motion. I can’t tell if it’s the grief of losing someone or the sudden weight of everything I was already carrying—but whatever it is, it’s heavy.
And yet, I have to remind myself: just because I feel broken now doesn’t mean I imagined the moments when I was whole. The high was real. The strength, the joy, the momentum—that was all real. And it’s still here, somewhere, buried beneath the grief and anxiety.
What If This Isn't a Full Crash, but a Reset?
I hate how clichés start making sense when you’re in the thick of it. But maybe this is one of those moments where life forces a shift. Perhaps the relationship wasn’t as solid as I thought. Maybe the stress that’s been simmering for months was bound to spill over. Maybe I needed to lose something to find something else—myself, my footing, my way forward.
That doesn’t make it fair. It doesn’t mean I deserved this. But maybe, just maybe, when I come out of this (because I will), I’ll be more sure of myself than I ever was before.
And I don’t have to make sense of it all today. I don’t have to be okay yet. Some days, it’s enough to exist.
So I ask myself: What’s one small thing I can do right now that feels kind?
Something, anything, to remind myself that I am still here, outside of this heartbreak.
And maybe that’s how healing starts. Not with a grand epiphany, but with these tiny acts of care, these small moments of softness.
Because one day—maybe sooner than I think—I'll wake up, and the weight will feel lighter. The ache won’t take up so much space. And I’ll realize I’m still moving forward, even when I thought I was standing still.
This isn’t the end. This is the in-between. And something beautiful is waiting on the other side.
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