Holding heartbreak and hope at the same time
I’m not an optimist by default. I bend toward and find a deep sense of familiarity with melancholy, even though it also traps me in pain.
It’s a few weeks after the end of my two year relationship with a wonderful guy.
The pain of heartbreak is enough on its own. Add a global pandemic to the mix. Add feelings of isolation and loss. Add simply being a human with a soft heart.
One of the hardest parts of heartbreak and the end of a relationship is when you so clearly see your part in the ending. Part of me saw it in the last weeks of our relationship, but in a way I felt frozen, unable to break out of a self-inflicted trance.
I wasn’t able to fully be present and show up as my full self in the most difficult, important conversations me and my boyfriend had together. When it mattered most, I choked. I retreated into myself, building a barricade of self-protection, severing the possibility of repair.
For the last few weeks I moved between deep sadness, dark despair, and desire for what was. A feeling I ended a love because of my shortcomings.
The ache when heartbreak shows up when it damn well pleases.
No rhyme, reason, or warning. As Nigel (Stanley Tucci) in The Devil Wears Prada exclaimed, “Gird your loins!”
To move through the loss, I called in reinforcements:
- Tapping into my spiritual center and depths
- Meditating every morning with help from headspace
- Reflecting daily in my New mindset, Who dis? journal
- Exercising my booty off after packing on covid pounds
- Revisiting the Enneagram and all its mystery (I’m a Type 4)
- Reconnecting with and leaning on my dearest friends
- Reading John Kim’s book Single. On Purpose. and joining his TAT lab classes where others are facing similar challenges
Sometimes you have to throw the kitchen sink at heartbreak. What I haven’t forgotten to do is also feel my feelings when they show up. It’s a tough practice.
Too often, when sadness rolls into town, I willingly hitch a ride and hang on for the long haul. Over years of practice and habit, I easily sink with sadness into the depths of despair. I float there, marinating in all the feelings sorrow has to offer.
Other emotions rarely have a chance to break through and be heard. I drown out other emotions, hanging onto sadness — the emotion that simultaneously makes me feel deeply alive and suffocates any hint of positive emotions.
Tonight, while reflecting on ideas posed by Beatrice Chestnut in her book The Complete Enneagram, a realization came to me. It’s not revolutionary in the sense some people may have mastered this art form. What came to me is this:
I can be both deeply sad, grieving the loss of an amazing guy who meant so much to me and be hopeful I will experience intimacy and love again in the context of a relationship.
This holding of two seemingly opposite ends of the vibrational spectrum nearly short-circuited my heart in the best of ways. I felt a sense of openness I hadn’t experienced up until this point.
During moments of intense heartbreak, I remembered all the good times we had together. We laughed. We were there for each other through the pandemic. We had great sex. Memorable adventures. Silly moments. There’s so much sadness around the fact all of that is gone. In the past.
I really miss him.
When I shut out hope, there wasn’t room for hope to be present. No way to find relief in the midst of heartbreak. It takes time to heal. I’m working on taking responsibility for my patterns and habits. Taking steps to learn new ways to love, be present in conflict, listen fully and ensure I both see and hear my partner when they’re in pain.
I know sadness will creep into the picture in the most unexpected of moments. But I’m also carving out space for hopefulness. As hope blossoms, heartbreak will fade. I imagine myself sitting cross-legged, palms up. In one hand, sadness rests there, hoping to be acknowledge. In my other hand, hope desires the same attention.
I can attend and nurture both. I don’t have to pretend the loss doesn’t hurt. I can also look to hope as the balm of healing through this time.
It will take practice and conscious effort. But it’ll be worth it. It’s all part of the risk of loving and be loved.
