Part II: Heartbreak and The Path to Peace

For people who are literally too busy for breakdowns, like me. So far, so good. Could this journaling thing be my superpower? Would you like it to work for you just as well?

I have no intention of being morose or maudlin, but I am going to continue to be open and honest about what I’m working through, otherwise, why bother trying to help anyone else move from pain to peace of mind?

If you missed it, Part I is here. TL;DR: My 5-year relationship ended with a 15-minute confession that his feelings had changed. It came out of nowhere. I’m trying to come to grips with it.

I’m a life coach with a journaling practice that is serving me really, really well right now. I’m not a therapist. I’m not even going to pretend to be anything more than what I am, a woman in her 50s who has finally, finally found out the hard way that all that work she’s put in – all that journaling she’s done and all those journaling workshops she’s led – has paid off in the best possible way.

I’m still processing, but I have peace of mind. This matters because work and family obligations this summer absolutely need me to prioritize my peace of mind. Patience is a requirement, and the deep breathing would never be enough without the deep meaning I plow into my journal every day—and what I do with it to keep myself safe.

I am not falling apart. On paper, it would make sense if I was. I’m surprised, and a little suspicious, that I’m not. I grieve the loss of love and I mourn the loss of our future together, which is unfolding for him at lighting speed the way we planned it, but has spun so fast and so far away from me and my life that I’m just left here standing on the edge, blinking in its wake. But I’m not falling apart.

And I’m not leaning on toxic positivity, 20-a-penny platitudes, or the low-hanging fruit of affirmation memes plucked from social media.

I’m continuing to work my journaling practice, my Daily Pages. Openly, honestly, and with a sense of poking and prodding at the whole thing from every angle to see if it holds.

The first thing I’m doing is, I’m allowing myself to be sad. I’m allowing myself to say I’m fine, followed by, I’m not fine. This really hurts. But it is what it is for now.

Every time my heart drops into my stomach, I tell myself I’m sad, and it’s okay that I’m sad. I know it sounds strangely simple, almost too simple. But it works. You know how it feels when someone cares enough to tune in and listen to you, and what they say next proves they really heard you? That they’re not judging, they’re just there with you? Telling myself I’m sad and that it’s okay that I’m sad is like giving myself a little love note or a hug or an intimate moment of friendship.

I’m who I’ve got right now, and for the first time in 50 years, I know I’m safe alone with myself. I’m safe alone with my thoughts and feelings. This is one of those benefits of journaling I didn’t know I was weaving into my experience until literally just now, writing it out for you. I am safe alone with myself. Wow.

IYKYK.

And it’s a good thing, too, because I have been too busy to share my heart with my friends. Seriously. They check in and I say I’m fine. Followed by, I’m not fine. This really hurts. But it is what it is for now.

And then I’m allowing myself to not elaborate out loud.

Truth check: I can’t elaborate out loud. If I do, I will break down and I will lose focus on my grandkiddo, who is 7 and tall and strong and fast and has the kind of autism that sometimes overrides impulse control. Or I will break down and not get the word out about the workshops and retreats I have coming up and I won’t be able to pay the bills. Or I will break down and worry my mother.

Or I will break down and leave all these DIY projects undone and my office and bedroom will never feel like home.

I need my office and my bedroom to nurture me, to feed me hope and inspiration, joy and motivation, creativity and accountability—those vibes are the lifeblood of my livelihood. What I’m doing about that is for another time. Just know, it’s a lot.

Journaling with purpose, like I’m doing now, requires wide open, feral writing that burns its way across the page in thunderstorms of raw emotion, taking no prisoners, giving no quarter, forgetting no slight. And it requires the grace of soft words and gentle phrases, slow passes at new perspectives, and the calm acceptance of now, with a cautious eye on later, and a tentative hold on the value of good things in the past.

So, I give myself permission to write whatever the fuck I want, in any voice I want, because I trust myself to know what to do with it. And it’s working.

It’s working so well, I’m legit wondering if this could be one of my superpowers. And I’d love for it to be one of yours as well. How great would that be?

Moving from one set of emotions to another when you’re on your own in your Daily Pages requires keeping an eye on yourself, from over your shoulder, and the willingness, when you stray into dangerous or repetitive territory, to return to the original course you charted and row in the right direction.

If you want to stay safe, if you want to avoid loops and ruts, if you want to move through the swamp of gross, disgusted feelings to the meadow of light, hopeful feelings, you have to know when and how to rein in the maelstrom. And you have to know enough to trust the process.

It’s not about cutting yourself off or censoring your feelings. But it is about the give and take of conversation—conversation with yourself, part of you wild and unfettered, and part of you taking the deep breaths and keeping a little distance between you and your exuberances. Like part of you gets to be the tornado while the other part feels the wind and respects the storm, but from across the field in a patch of sun and stillness.

Stepping back to see how my journaling process can serve others, I have circled and highlighted a bunch of different things I tend to do over and over to get myself through any shitstorm of emotions. I mix it up according to need and mood and, without fail, they foster my peace of mind.

Here’s the list. I’m adding the word Secret to the title so you’ll be properly intrigued. I’ll explain them, one at a time, over the next few weeks, and give you practical ways to use them yourself. But first: I’m going to say for the record, right here and now: I am so freaking grateful that I started practicing most of these things (techniques?) in my journaling years ago.

One Dozen Secret Ways to Help You Move from Heartbreak to Peace of Mind in Your Daily Pages.

1. Speculating

2. Selective Hearing

3. Wordsmithing

4. Ego Stroking

5. Dopamine-ing

6. Careful Listening

7. Thankful Thanking

8. Confessing

9. Character Leaning

10. PERMA Checking

11. No Regerts/Regerting

12. Futuring

Don’t try to figure them out; you’ll sprain your brain. They’re code words for me to remember for next time, designed to fascinate you while you wait for the next edition. Is it working?