say you should use your journey. So I am going to. And I want to begin with a confession: I am bad at breakups. I’ll get to what I actually mean by “breakups” in a minute. But I just want to start by saying it’s really hard to write that. It’s hard to even admit it. And—as uncomfortable as it makes me to write—especially in a book that will find itself in countless hands I both know and don’t—I am still going to do it. And I will because I believe—I have always believed—that the things that are hard to talk about are the only things that are ever worth writing about. I also know—when I go back to edit this—that I will for sure read these words with new eyes. Which means, I will also probably feel incredibly compelled to cut the raw details out. I know I’ll be sitting there in the final editing phase, hovering anxiously over the delete key—with these first few chapters completely highlighted. And all I’ll be doing is weighing.
The value of being real. Against the fear of being vulnerable.
These first few chapters—they are going to walk us both through the beginning of an ending. When it’s real and vulnerable and messy. When we don’t have bumper-sticker quotes to get us through. When we don’t get it right. When all we have is a crumbling reality, some big lessons to learn, and a massively broken heart. And you know, I’ll want to cut these details out not because they aren’t an important part of the story, but because—like all of us—I’ll want to protect myself.
From you. From what—you—will think of my story.
But I am starting this whole book by making myself a promise. That I will not do that. And the reason is simple, even if it’s hard. I am going to write what is hard for me to write because—during the times in my life I have really struggled, I have often stumbled upon words from other writers who have made me feel like they were writing my story. Simply because they had the courage to write theirs.
And that is what I want to do for you. I want to talk about the parts of life that are hard to talk about. And in doing so, show you how intertwined our stories really are. They may start and end a little differently—and may span different lengths of time and space—but at the core, we are all the same in love. We want it. We put our hearts out there. We trust the people we hand them to. And in the end, we either get what we’re looking for—or we learn.
And that is what this is about. So, contrary to the title of this chapter—like any good breakup story, we don’t start at the beginning. We start at the end.
Here goes.
The things that are hardest to talk about
are the only things
that are ever worth writing about.
**
So—if I were to take a guess, I’d guess that you are smack-dab in the middle of the overanalyzing part, right? Well before acceptance, and maybe even before pain—an ending just simply makes you think. Way. Too. Much. You get into this spin of overanalyzing every single word that was said. At any point. In any conversation. You go back and look for signs of things you didn’t see but think you should of. You reread text messages. You seesaw back and forth between “I absolutely don’t deserve this,” and “This was totally my fault.” You get mad that it’s happening—that someone you trusted could do this to you. To what you had. And then, inevitably, you give yourself a pep talk, pull yourself together, put on a brave face (even when you are absolutely in knots inside) and tell yourself there must be something you can learn from this. Right? Like—that wasn’t your person. And—you don’t want anyone who doesn’t want you.
Sure. And maybe that lasts for a bit.
But then the moments happen, don’t they? The ones you knew full well were going to happen but somehow still seem to blindside you anyway. You pass the coffee shop you used to go to together. You have to deal with that thing they always used to help you with. That day on the calendar comes. You get mail addressed to the two of you. You see the place they used to put their keys—or the absence of their phone charger hanging by their side of the bed. Or—maybe it’s as painfully simple as having to say it out loud. And explain why they aren’t coming. And won’t be.
And that is when it happens.
That strength you were doing so incredibly well with crumbles into a million little pieces. And you do what I think we all do but never talk about:
You go back.
You go back and start thinking it wasn’t that bad. You go back and start telling yourself there was love there. They were good to you. There were some incredibly good times. It’s like—you just try to erase the ending—the part where everything fell apart (and why)—and you rewind to the place you were last comfortable in. The place that was good. The place that made you—happy.
And that is the place where an ending starts getting complicated, isn’t it? Because there were good times. A lot of them. And you had a connection, didn’t you? And you were planning things. And you trusted them. And they made you feel something you hadn’t felt before.
Oh, love. I get it. I get it so much more than I have ever wanted to get it.
But this place—the one where it seems so much easier to go back than to move forward—is the place so many of us make a decision that changes the course of our whole lives without even knowing it. I mean, sure—there are, I am certain, so many circumstances where maybe we should go back. To fight for the person we love—who loved us. And just as equally—there are so many times we should walk ourselves away without ever looking back. And the trouble with that decision is that we are often forced to make it when we are all clouded with emotion. And so, we’re sitting there, alone on our couches or curled up in our beds with tears in our eyes, figuring out whether to move forward or go back without any real facts. Without any clarity. Without giving it the time we all know we need to give it, but don’t want to. When our hearts are shouting go back—but our heads shout even louder just think about it.
Now, only you can ever decide what is right for you and your life.
But we’re going to talk about a few things in this book that will hopefully help you decide. About how all this feels. About the lies your heart tells you when it’s broken. About how and when to get rid of those things that constantly remind you of that person. About how to make the shift away from what has happened—and toward what is happening. So you don’t get stuck in a place where you can’t totally move forward but you can’t totally go back. And then, we’re going to end with what you need to take away from this. And what part you decide to carry forward with you.
Look, love. You and I are going to talk through a lot of how this is going to go. And through these pages, I am going to repeat one thing over and over and over. Hopefully you’ll understand it by the last page, even if you don’t at the first. But—it ended for a reason. It did. Now, whether that’s a forever thing or a just for now thing, only time will tell. But that’s not really what you need to be focusing on right now, anyway. Because the truth you can’t deny (and really need to accept) is that, no matter what, it did end. And so, something was broken if one of you (or both of you) felt the need to end it rather than work through it.
Sometimes people need to grow separately before they can come together. And sometimes your love story is going to end in the middle of the love part for no other reason than it just did. And you are going to have to learn to accept that. As hard as it is.
So I’m going to tell you how it has felt for me, and what I have learned, in the hopes my journey helps you on yours. And to be completely honest with you, I am sitting here starting this book in a coffee shop (the same one he and I frequented). It’s a Sunday. Two days after someone I thought I knew so well looked at me with eyes I didn’t even recognize and said he was done. For no reason at all. And I’m telling you—it’s raw. It stings. I’m still making sense of it. Three days ago, I thought we were living our best life. And now? Now, I’ve spent these past two days sitting in my house—plaguing myself with those never-ending thoughts of why coupled with you cannot go back to someone who will do that to you.
I feel the tightness in my shoulders. The world turns outside my