Part VIII: Heartbreak and the Path to Peace

PART EIGHT?!? Breathe; it’s okay to read just this part. You don't have to read Parts I-VII to pick up a helpful journaling technique to help clear your way through tough emotions. But you can.

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

Careful Tuning

This is about your right to be happy and your right to own your happiness.

If you’re at all like me, the end of a relationship signals the end of everything associated with said relationship. I don’t ever want to see any of the shit that’s going to remind me of anything we did together, any adventures we had, any places we visited, any music we listened to – any of it. Insert stamping foot here.

But what am I going to do? Never belt out Guns ’N Roses on the freeway at the top of my lungs again? Ever? Suddenly stop listening to Barenaked Ladies and ZZ Ward and Wet Leg and Taylor Swift? As if.

Truth check: I did not listen to music for three weeks after he ended things. I just couldn’t bring myself to do it; music was such a big part of our life together, from a house filled with music all day every day, to long car rides filled with music every weekend, his guitar practice in the evenings, and the multiple concerts we went to every month (sometimes more than one a week). I couldn’t even turn my mind to what I could possibly listen to that wouldn’t trigger deep sadness and a reminder of yet another key ingredient of my former happy life that I had lost. There was nothing.

But I have been doing the work in my journal. And I’m about to reveal some hard stuff to give you a sense of how writing through things can really help.

Hidden deep within the process I trust so much in my journal was the shadow process of unclenching allll the sphincters in my body, which I really needed to do, because my avoidance of music was about fear.

I was afraid of the pain because I knew it would be intense. And I was really afraid of not being able to control my emotions in public. And I was also afraid of disrupting my private life at a time I really could not afford to be distracted. I needed so much quiet so I could keep going, keep folding laundry, keep being present for my grandkid, keep rebuilding my business, keep being of service to my clients, keep writing, keep working, keep breathing.

I was afraid to stop and listen to music, because I was afraid it would end me.

When I did start listening to music again, it hurt. Just like I knew it would. Even my old favorites from before we started dating stabbed hard at the feels. They betrayed me because they took me back to a place without that person in it. I was back in that place of before, so solidly connected now to after.

But damn it, I have a right to music in my life. I have a right to listen to our favorite songs because they’re my favorite songs. I am allowed to own the pleasure they bring to my life and claim the way they make me move and feel, separate from that other person.

The only way to separate music from memory is to move it squarely into the present. The only way I know of to do this is to talk about it in my journal.

I don’t want to live in fear of breaking down whenever I see, hear, taste, smell, or touch something that’s going to remind me of that life.

So I turn to the page and ask myself what’s going on. What. Is. Really. Going on? Is this situation, this life without music, something I want? Is it sustainable? Am I really not allowed to love music anymore, just because so much of my love for it is tangled up in that relationship?

It’s like I let someone else mark their territory on a big chunk of my life. But you know what? I have the right to enjoy music without someone else’s pee all over it, and so do you.

This goes for all kinds of other things as well. My impulse, when I unpacked all my things from his house into this one, was to box up every damn thing he had ever given me, every damn thing he had ever touched, and every damn memory we had created together, and shove it somewhere I’d never have to see it again. I mean, why would I want to?

Well, those are really good questions for your journal. Why would you want to box everything up and never look at it again, if once it meant so very much, and why would you want to look at it if it’s not worth keeping?

But damn it all over again, I have a right to my memories. I have a right to wear, use, and listen to all of it, if I want. What good would those earrings do stuffed away in a box I won’t look at again for another 10 years? It will take a long, long time to be able to wear that necklace again, if ever, but I refuse to bury it.

I boxed up all the photos and cards, of course, souvenirs from travel, random ticket stubs from random adventures, and any other straight-up romantic sweet nothings accumulated over five years. I have no idea what to do with them. I’m not ready to toss them out with the week-old banana peel and what I used to clean up the latest hairball. But keep them in a box? Like I have room for another box?

It was so hard tear those things out of my grip, off my walls, and out of my world, but what they represented had already been torn out of my present and my future, so what else was I going to do with them? Seriously. Where did that reality belong in this reality? I was not ready to rip myself out of that reality, but god help me, I was struggling with what the hell my next reality was even going to look like, let alone where all these manifestations of past emotion were going to live.

It’s like another Schrodinger’s box. Does the reality of the past five years exist, does it have an impact, does it matter, did it have a life of its own, or is it dead? I’m not prepared to investigate.

Or so I thought. Actually, I thought about it in my journal. A lot. Do the past five years really mean nothing to me, in the end? Just because they meant nothing to him, in the end?

Oh hell no. I have the right to see these things in a new light. I have the right to enjoy the things that meant and still mean something to me as an individual, as myself, as the person who went to those places and did those things and lived that life, and put them out where I can see them and use them and enjoy them.

You have a right to your memories, your reminders of good times and great experiences. Start writing them out in your journal, and let yourself be surprised by where this can take you and how it might just ground you, somewhat, to know you can claim these things as your own; you don’t have to lose any part of the identity you embraced when you were together that you don’t want to (except for the label – wife, husband, lover, partner, whatever; that’s gone, but you can keep the rest).

• Listen to the music they introduced you to – because you love it for your own reasons.

• Wear the earrings they gave you – because they totally suit you.

• Wear the socks you bought for yourself when you bought some for him – because they showcase your snarky sense of humor.

• Do your hair his favorite way – because it’s your favorite way (it really does flatter you).

• Keep the sunset photos he took up on your wall – you were there and they’re stunning shots.

• Watch the shows you watched together – they always did scratch your itch for entertainment.

• Snuggle deep in the blanket you once shared – it’s warm and cozy, and you deserve comfort.

• Wear the perfume (or, in my case, the coconut oil and vanilla) – it’s still your favorite scent.

• Make his mother’s recipe for yourself – why would you ever go back to artichokes cooked any other way?

• Eat at the restaurants, drink the wine, visit the art galleries – they still feed you what you need and it’s not like your stomachs and eyeballs were connected so you can’t appreciate flavors and colors without your ex.

Feel the feels. Sit with the sad. Then take a deep breath and do it anyway.

Call it desensitizing yourself. Call it normalizing activities for your enjoyment alone. Hell, call it moving forward without a Plus One. Call it whatever you want, just give yourself the gift of understanding that you matter now, without them, at least as much as you mattered then, with them. And you deserve to enjoy what you enjoy.

It will hurt at first, because all those good things you used to share with the person you loved have to be experienced without them. But over time, the good things will start to feel good again. Acknowledge this gradual development in your journal so your mind can keep tracking that upward movement towards equanimity and peace.

Some things, like the song that fills me with memories of my cousin who passed, tend to tug me over to that overgrown garden of grief, but I learned a very important lesson when I mourned her in my journal. I came across this saying somewhere: I walk down memory lane because I love running into you. And I discovered that taking myself back in time to be with her was hard at first, but then it was such an incredible privilege to live it over again with her. We both exist in that time and space.

The question for me is, can I walk down memory lane with myself and revisit all of those beautiful, happy times I had with him, but this time focus on my experience and not think about him in all of it?

I don’t know. It’s an exercise for my journal, because that’s where I won’t get lost. I don’t want to cut him out of those memories, but neither do I want to lose those memories simply because he’s in them.

I played Big Head Todd And The Monsters while I wrote today to keep myself honest and test my theory even harder and yep, it’s a physical pain. Being transplanted to Red Rocks, Denver, Meow Wolf, the street festival, flying the drone in the park, picnics in the car, and a life that no longer exists hurts.

And if you don’t think I broke down three times writing this piece, you’re wrong.

But the fact is, all that did exist at one time. And it was glorious. It was so much fun and I have a big, huge collection of memories that will ease themselves out of the sludge of heartache into something happy at some point.

The next time I listen to them, it will hurt less. Eventually, I’ll be singing along without thinking about it. But not today.

I’m okay with not being pain-free today because I trust the process. Telling the truth in your journal about how you feel and making sure you use appropriate words to describe those feelings (“sad” instead of “devastated”, “hurt” instead of “crippling pain”), helps your heart find perspective. Yes, it’s an analytical technique of the mind, but it’s for the benefit of the heart.

Sometimes, it’s pretty straightforward. Other times, it straight sucks. Be honest with yourself in your journal.

Today, I’m really torn about whether I can ever wear the Kokomo t-shirt again. On the one hand, it’s super comfy and I love the color. But it’s not just a t-shirt. I learned to love that winery. We went there several times a year, together, top down on sunny days, singing the whole way or talking about life and important things. The first time, it was his birthday, and I met some of his friends. The last time, I didn’t know it was the last time. We ended up wandering over to The Pour House and talking to the owner and laughing over silly things, like we always did. I feel like we laughed so much …

And I’m crying again. These things are hard to write, in case you had any doubts. But each time I cry a little, I cleanse a little of the pain. I’m never going to know what went wrong, or why whatever went wrong was stronger than everything that had been right, but every day I spend time and intention on my path to peace in my journal I grow stronger in my understanding of myself, who I am, and how much I am earning my own respect. 

Write the hard things in a deliberate way in your journal and see what your words have to teach you. I dare you. If you need help, you know where to find me.

In the case of the Kokomo t-shirt, the fit and comfort overrode leftover emotions. I threw it on and wore it to pick up my grandkiddo, run errands, and later chop vegetables for dinner. I wear my Violent Femmes tee all the time – there was never any doubt about that one. The Emily Wolfe t-shirt, however, is safely tucked away with next summer’s shirts so I can put off deciding if I can handle wearing it until then.

Next week, in Thankful Thanking, we’re going to get all introspective up in here. The focus is on the internal and emotional things we get to appreciate, and how it serves you more than anyone else to spend time investing in the idea of net gain over net loss.