Heartbreak, Healing, and New Love

The cold, sad final days and months of February 2024 released the hold of winter from the world, and a faint, loving breath of spring stirred in the air, and my world crumbled. It was not a dramatic collapse – not of the kind that involved shouting matches or slamming doors. No, it ended with vague tremors, barely perceptible to start with, like the slight jostling of intermingling tectonic plates beneath the crust of life I had taken for immutable even amid earthquakes of my own making. Ten years—ten whole years—after discovering love, partnership, and dreams growing side by side, my love for my girlfriend reached a sound, and suffering ended.

A decade is much time to go by. That shared 10 years' worth of inside jokes, routines, and memories woven into the pleather of life. We had grown up in many ways; this matured us from uncertain young adults to people who knew what kind of milk we each wanted, how the other liked their egg, and when silence beat the sound of talking. But love, as I would learn, to hold two people together isn't always enough, especially when trust begins to fray.

Early February marked when I started to pick up on relatively minor changes. That kind of change you attempt to ignore in the first instance, but finally, you can't unsee. My girlfriend had begun hanging out with this person named Geoffrey. At first, I reasoned with myself not to worry. She promised me that he was only a friend, a person intellectually exciting and witty to be around. I wanted to believe her. I needed to believe her. Since what else could I do? Questioning her would be insulting to me, equivalent to confessing that the foundations of our relationship were crumbling. And who would like to lose his face to that kind of truth?

But the unease kept growing. Late-night texts or sudden adventuring out, a more playful constituting-in her voice discussing him – all that spoke a lot, but in a way that only confirmed my unwillingness to recognize the truth. Then, one night, she came back crying. Her face was stained in mascara, and she trembled in her hands, reciting everything that had occurred. Geoffrey had attempted to kiss her. She had pulled away, and she had come home at once. Her guilt was heavy, and I saw in her eyes the sorrow of one in the middle of a cross-current between familiarity and temptation.

I forgave her. I convinced myself, at least, that I had done it. I convinced myself that the weakness of this moment was not betrayal but a mistake. I loved her. I thought love was the grace to stumble and not condemn someone forever. But a chasms had opened inwardly though. I could sense it every time she fidgeted in her phone with slightly too much interest; she seemed mentally other every time.

Seven days later, the unexpected occurred. She told me she had fallen in love with Geoffrey. She didn't say it cruelly. The best part is that she was as destroyed as I was. But it had the same result: she chose him. I stood among the ruins of our once shared life, looking at the ghost of everything we had created together.

Heartbreak is not an event that happens once. It is a slow unraveling – a chain of empty mornings and sleepless nights, memories that come back unwelcomed, and voice-over a voice in endless echoing repetition. In those first post-breakup days, I floated through them like a man with no compass, figuring out who exactly I was without her.

During one of those long periods of solitude, I chanced upon a book called The Secret. I had heard of it before – the whispering in i-help circles and spiritual blogs. But now, lacking all to lose and having so much to heal, I took it up and started to read. What I found in there was not some miracle cure for heartbreak and everything but more of a compassionate push towards repossessing my sense of purpose and potential.

The book talked about the law of attraction, the thought that our thoughts shape our reality. At first, I was skeptical. However, as I continued to read, something started to change. I saw how long I have lived in the past, playing back old hurts, grieving for what is gone, embracing what can never return. The Secret invited me to envision that future in terms of love, joy, and fulfillment, not as a fairy tale fantasy but as a real destination – a tangible place created by our intention and belief.

So I made a decision. I would cease mourning about the past and start building the future. I'd be open to being in love, not just with romance but with life, the connection, the meaning. I installed dating apps, messaged with strangers, and left the bubble of safety I had constructed around myself.

The conversations (most) were short ones. Courteous, occasionally appealing, but never revving up to any more than mild intrigue. Then, one day, a different message appeared. Her words – not especially ornate or poetic – were warm and genuine in a way that stood out amidst the din. We began talking. Texts to voice notes, voice notes to telephone calls. There was a comfort level between us as if two aged souls remembered how to speak in each other's tongue.

When we finally met, at last, I felt something that I hadn't felt in years, an electric current and a quiet acceptance, "this is right. She smiled, and momentarily, the world became brighter. We chatted for hours, forgetting time, sharing stories, dreams, fears, and laughter. For someone like me, who was always a little reserved, by whom I opened up to her, it was both surprising and liberating. Together with her, I didn't need to pretend or act. I could be.

The second time we dated, we sat under a canopy of stars, drinking wine and talking about heartbreak and healing, and it was a decision; a courageous, impulsive, beautiful decision. We decided to be together. It felt dangerous and rushed, but in a way unmistakably so—the type of decision that sidesteps reason and heads straight to the heart.

The weeks have passed, and we see each other most days. There is an ambiance for our days that is natural and earthy. We cook, go on long walks, binge-watch (and are still watching!) shows, and discuss the spectrum, from philosophy to our most mundane daily details. Each moment feels like a thread in a new tapestry – a life I love.

In retrospect, I became wise enough to realize that breaking up with my previous partner was not only a heartbreak but a doorway. An agonizing necessary gateway that I had to pass through to be able to enter the next chapter of my story. Geoffrey was never the villain. My ex-girlfriend wasn't either. They were the catalysts—the heft that propelled me out of a life that no longer fit into one that feels customized for who I'm going to be.

In February, I was a different person. That was a tired and injured me, holding on to something that was already vanishing. I am more open, inquisitive, and optimistic now than in years. I've discovered that we create love, not simply something we get, by being present, honest, and having the guts to start over. 

 I'm still writing my story. There will be difficulties, uncertainties, and happy and fearful moments. However, for now, I am here, rooted in the here and now, appreciative of the journey that led me here, and profoundly in love—not just with a new person, but with life in general.