Part VII: Heartbreak and the Path to Peace

PART SEVEN?!? Never fear; this piece stands on its own. You don't have to read Parts I-VI to benefit from what I have to say about journaling your way through tough emotions. But you can if you want.

#5 of 12 Ways to Move Yourself from Heartbreak to Peace of Mind.

Dopamine-ing

Dopamine withdrawal is the hardest part of breaking up. Hear me out.

You’ve just spent months or years pebbling* each other hard. You sent them just about every Reel and TikTok that you knew would cheer them up, make them groan, make them think, make them laugh, and just plain put a smile on their face.

Your very first thought, even before the video ended, was that you had to send it to them immediately because they were going to get such a kick out of watching it. You did it because that video or that meme – that pebble – was a little love note from you to them. And they knew it.

And they did the same for you, cultivating a selection of goodies to ping your way, hitting that dopamine sweet spot in your brain and intensifying your feelings of connection and affection.

The act of pebbling rang its own dopamine bell—and it wasn’t just the digital pebbles that released the dopamine; it was the tiny love notes you left lying around to be discovered in a random moment, the snack plate you threw together and delivered to their desk in the middle of the afternoon, and a million other little gestures of thoughtfulness that felt so delightful in the giving.

And the pebbles you collected were even sweeter. Like the way they hung up your towel so it would dry faster, the new songs they couldn’t wait to share with you, the orchid they kept alive when you were away, and the stack of funny calendar pages they saved for when you came back.

It feels so good to know you are loved.

When you get dumped, all that comes skidding to a halt. The dopamine door slams shut. You can’t give and you can’t receive, not in the manner to which you – and your brain – have become accustomed. And suddenly you’re lost in a loop of checking/not checking for pebbles, stuck on the teeter-totter of hope and disappointment, hope and disappointment. And then you kick yourself for all the stupid things that drove you to check/not check in the first place. It’s like your brain is stuck.

It’s physically painful. Not only have you lost the attention of the one you love, the intimacy you shared in your relationship, and the safe place to keep your dreams and secrets, but you’ve also lost all the interactions that triggered the release of dopamine in your system.

All those little pebbles were dopamine hits. You gave some, you received some, you gave some more, you got some more, all day long and into the night. The part of your brain that lives for dopamine was lighting up constantly! Bright lights and warm glows everywhere!

But now … ouch.

It’s not just the absence of light, it’s the pain of dark. It’s not just that things have gone quiet, it’s the confusing silence. Intellectually, you know what’s going on. But the addiction center in your brain has no idea; it’s so confused and it’s desperate for a hit.

It’s withdrawal. It’s a constant itch that you just can’t scratch (and keep your dignity) (and let go) (and move on).

So, what do you do about it in your journal? How do you address the itch without scratching it?

Begin by talking about it. Lay it all out there on the pages. Make an actual list of all the pebbles that have nowhere to go and all the pebbles that are no longer coming your way. Be open and honest with yourself. It’s going to fucking hurt, because it’s digging into grief and looking hard at exactly what you’ve lost. But it clears the field.

Clear the field of all that chaos and debris, and peace of mind will have somewhere to live.

So. Write about how it felt to send a clever Reel to your ex. And write about how it feels to have to stop yourself from sending a clever Reel to your ex. How does it feel to withhold a pebble, to know they don’t want your pebble, and to suddenly have no one to gift with your pebbles? These are three very different questions.

How does it feel to withhold a pebble? Is there anger? Satisfaction? Sadness? Whatever you feel, what’s that about? Write it out.

How does it feel to know they don’t want your pebble? Are you frustrated? Sad? Does it trigger feelings of unworthiness? If they don’t want your pebble, are they even the right penguin for you?

How does it feel to have no one to gift with your pebbles? And is that even a true statement? Because I’ve been tossing pebbles left right and center at all kinds of different people the past few weeks, in a splurge fest of dammit – I need to share the way this TikTok made me feel and I don’t care who thinks I’m sad and needy right now!

The analytical part of your mind plays an important role in moving from heartbreak to equanimity. Of course you have to feel your feelings, swim in your emotions, and embrace the wallow. It’s how you know what you need. But remember, if your need is to move through the grief (not past it) to peace of mind, then you have to step back now and then and evaluate things dispassionately. Don your dispassionate persona for a minute, the one who wants you to stop dilly-dallying around and get to the point already.

Your journal is so freaking fracking good for this.

Acknowledge how hard it hurts to be without a romantic pebble exchange in your life. While you’re at it, acknowledge how good it felt to offer tokens of your love and affection to another person. Ask yourself what it did for your self-image and your self-esteem to have been an active part of nurturing a bond that was based on really seeing and appreciating another human being. Because there’s a lot going on for you there.

You took a chance every time you pebbled your partner. Every offering was a risk of some kind – what if they thought the rechargeable hand warmer was lame or the bug bite suction tool was stupid? The thing is – and this is so important to remember – you simply cannot lose when you practice expressing love and thoughtfulness.

You became a little more brave with each pebble. You practiced new kinds of intimacy and tried new expressions of love. You are so awesome for putting your heart out there like that! You’re not getting the pebbles you’re used to, and it sucks that the source and the inspiration cut you off from that drug, but you have gained so much from the experience that will always and forever be a part of you.

Remind yourself of this truth when you journal. The ability to pebble this particular person was taken away from you, but the ability to pebble was not.

You also got better at receiving pebbles. For a lot of us, it’s hard enough to say thank you to a compliment without squirming out of our skin, let alone sitting quietly and comfortably with an act of love that shows we’re being cared for and thought about for no good reason we know about.

If you got so used to getting pebbles that you’re going through dopamine withdrawal, you’re one super lucky person who now knows what the minimum standard is for being adored!

Spend some time and a few pages exploring what this means. Who are you now? What has giving pebbles given you? What has learning how to receive pebbles really taught you?

And write a list of ways to get dopamine hits without having to pebble the ex.

What happened to me was, I lost interest in my phone (my biggest pebbling device). Okay, that was a lie. I’m still interested in my phone, but I don’t pick it up anywhere near as much as I used to, and my screen time is way down. I stopped checking it every few minutes and now I forget to play my favorite games on it until the day is over. I don’t even have it on when I go to bed. I read instead—a real book that doesn’t flash notifications at me (dopamine hits) whenever I get a new message.

My Wordle streak is still pretty much intact, but nowhere near as solid as it used to be.

However. After five years of pebbling and being pebbled by one person and reaping the rewards and benefits of leaning into all of the love languages in one way or another through pebbling, I am 100% not ready to quit the dopamine habit.

Please take a moment to feel a pang of pity for my kids and my poor friends. I have been throwing pebbles at them like it’s an Olympic event and I’m going for gold in 2026 and again in 2028 – making pebbling both a winter and a summer sport.

I’m a cat lady, but all my kids have or love dogs so now I find my feeds full of videos about dogs (because I keep sending to said kids). Also, chickens. I have so many chicken videos in my feed now, just because of that one friend who has a few chickens. I don’t have chickens. I don’t want chickens. My feed is full of chickens.

It gets worse. I have arachnophobia and a feed full of jumping spiders, simply because my daughter had a small spider once (in a terrarium) (at her own damn house).

I’m pebbling people I love, and I’m including myself. In your journal, explore how to do this, because it’s life-affirming and potentially life changing. It’s about making deliberate choices, which requires thought. So, please try it out and see what it does for you.

I make snack plates for myself. I cut up cheese and fruit and add cashews and chocolate chips and go up to my desk, sigh, and get back to work with a tasty treat within reach.

I make the bed to show myself I care, water my own orchids once a week, and mix the coconut oil and vanilla for my own pleasure.

I listen to our favorite music and my favorite music, watch what we used to watch and what I like to watch, and am finding ways to enjoy the pebbles of the past while I pebble myself and other people instead.

My Daily Pages journaling habit got me there.

Writing out what hurts and naming the pebbles I miss brought me to a rock-solid conclusion cemented in the truth: I really miss my friend.

This revelation came in the middle of a fit of speculation and upset and sadness all feeding on each other and themselves, spinning in circles and kicking up dust and just making my heart race and my stomach drop all at the same time. As they do.

Writing the truth soothed my battered psyche instantly. I really miss my friend.

It’s a hard truth and a real truth and a freeing truth. I really miss my friend is about one thing and one thing only. It’s not about fear, it’s not about rejection, it’s not about loneliness, and it’s not about who was right, who was wrong, what could have been done differently, or which words did and didn’t make sense. It’s not about details or distractions. It’s not about ifs, ands, or buts.

It’s about one simple truth.

My brain missed the dopamine hits until I replaced them. But I miss my friend. Knowing that – accepting that – brought perspective. You could even say it pebbled me with perspective. And you know what perspective brings? Freedom and release.

And then peace of mind.

I wrote I really miss my friend on a piece of paper that I pull out when I need to calm down. When I want to calm down. When I don’t want to get swept up in all the hoopla again. So far, I’ve propped it up on my desk to look at twice. It worked almost immediately, both times. I might not need to do it again; time is passing and what I miss is fading into memory. All of those beautiful pebbles are drifting back into their own time.

It’s bittersweet, but less bitter than sweet now. Soon, it will just be sweet.

How you talk to yourself and what you lean into when you write in your journal have a greater impact on the rest of your day and how you move around in your life than you realize. So, pay attention and speak kindly to yourself. If you have a choice, choose to dwell on the life-affirming things, like once a pebbler with mad pebbling skills, always a pebbler with mad pebbling skills!

Reader, you will rise to pebble again. Keep those skills sharp by pebbling yourself for a while. Start with the love and affection you show yourself in your journal.   

As Sharon Salzberg said in her book, Lovingkindness: The Revolutionary Art of Happiness:

“You, yourself, as much as anybody in the entire universe, deserve your love and affection.”

*Pebbling: A Psychologist Explains ‘Pebbling’