Scared to death of my own pain, how it’s paralyzed me before, knocked me down and dragged me by my feet. Kind of like a little kid who’s grabbing onto your legs, making it harder to walk, but instead of being fun and adorable its painful, and oppressing.

I got a text saying, “I’m coming home early.” No exclamation point, no emoji, no nothing. My heart lit up, my breath shortened, and — -

No no no no, I said it out loud

“I’m getting broken up with” is what I texted my best friend. She called me immediately but I didn’t answer. I needed to do something with my feet, so I took them outside to go pacing.

I felt distressed and numb at the same time. Walking aimlessly in the grass to mediate the impending doom coming my way — watching the cars drive down his street, thinking, is this next one going to be him?

I saw his white truck coming towards me, when he pulled into the driveway, I timed out when I would pick my head up from the ground and look at him. His eyes were full of tears, and I knew, it’s happening…

He said it shouldn’t be this hard. The cycle of blaming and misunderstanding we go through every 2–3 weeks like clockwork. It’s too energy draining, and I don’t see how it’s going to change.

It’s true, but it’s not what I wanted to face — I thought since I’m happier more than I’m not, it was worth it. I didn’t want to face the feeling in my gut, my intuition trying to get my attention — I pushed it away, because not waking up next to him, being able to hold his hand and snuggle up on the couch, not knowing his daily ins and outs, not seeing his name pop up on my phone, and ultimately, not knowing him at all — just felt too scary.

I accepted my fate, and I told him, in closing, thank you for loving me. I was proud every day to have you as my boyfriend.

And he screamed, why didn’t you say that!!

And In my head I thought I showed him that each and every day, did I not?

In tears, I started to gather my things around the house, my blanket, my books, my laptop- charger underneath the desk — -he followed me into the office, “hold on, can we just talk?

Talk about what? I just wanted to grab my things and go.

I went upstairs, I grabbed my overnight bag and went into the bathroom, he followed me in —

I was trying to shove the tampons that I had in the drawer into the pocket of my gym bag, but I had too many in my hand, and the pockets were too small

He sat down on the bathroom floor and said, I don’t want to break up, and I don’t want to stop fighting for you, but how is this going to work?

I made it about me, I made it my fault, and he let me, he even agreed with me. I made it about my wounds, all things came up for me in my first real committed relationship, that I wasn’t expecting to find — and I’m a little embarrassed speaking about that now — because it’s nobody’s fault, nor is it one person’s fault. We both have work to do.

We left it at a break, maybe 3 days, maybe 3 weeks, maybe 3 months, maybe 300 years. I just know that something broke in me. And I question the strength of our bond, how strong is it, if he was willing to throw in the towel, just like that? All the times he told me that I’m the one, and that I’ve always been the one, has been fractured, maybe beyond repair if I’m being honest.

I almost had everything packed into my car, I just had to go back in for my water bottle and something else. He went in to hug me. Part of me didn’t want the hug, but I turned around and gave him one anyway — my body felt soft and jello-y. And as he hugged me he gave me a pat on the back. I know the pat hug is meant to be a friendly gesture, like he’s trying to console me or cheer me up. But I’ve never been a fan of the pat hug — I’ve always felt it to be somewhat disingenuous, and awkward. Maybe even pitiful.

I drove straight to my moms apartment, and on the way there I thought I might need to sleep in her bed that night. I was scared to death of the weeks and months to come. I had hoped to never face the pain of a break-up again. It brought me back to three years ago, when I considered going on antidepressants. When the only reprieve from my pain was sleeping, and how acutely aware I was of any moment during the day when I felt just OK, and feeling so grateful for however long I could hold onto that feeling. I wondered if this one would be just as bad, or worse.

I called my best friend back and told her what happened — “this is going to take everything I got,” “what do you mean?” “I mean I’m going to have to reach into myself and find the strength, and draw it up and out of me.”

And as I was on the phone with her, a car drove by me on the highway with the license plate “TRUSTS.” I knew that was for me. Even though I’m a superstitious person and I specifically ask for signs via license plates, it was totally a sign. Trusts in the universe’s plan, and trusts in herself.

I got to my moms apartment, she hugged me and poured me a glass of wine. I told my mom my most sickening fear — my age, and it’s one I haven’t felt before. What if I don’t meet someone else? And my window to have kids and a family is narrowing in on me, and I don’t like it. What if I never meet anyone close to him, and I have to scrape from the bottom of the barrel, living the rest of my days in regret? I wish I could say I was above thinking like that. And like any good mom, she forbade me to think such things, and reminded me of her mistake, getting married out of fear, because she was 29 and that’s just what people did.

The first day felt sobering, waking up without a good morning text, but I made the bed, and I went to my workout, and on the drive home I stopped at the intersection and looked a homeless man in the eye (which I think is a good thing to do, even if you’re not going to give any money) and just gave him a little nod, and I thought to myself, how does he get by? And I sobbed, and then I sobbed some more in the shower. Going through a day without any correspondence, and then going to sleep without an I love you. It’s been a month of silence, and the only texts I’m getting right now are political endorsements.

“Rachel, we’ve asked SIX TIMES if you support Kamala Harris, but you still didn’t complete the poll?! From trump — $10? I need everyone reading this to give $10, the fate of our country is on the line! $15 for a signed Elon Musk DARK MAGA HAT?!”

The first couple days back at work I made it until about 3pm, then I had an hour break to cry. I work as a therapist, so it was challenging taking care of others while also through it. Some conversations helped me get through the day, while others made it more depressing. I had no appetite, — — and I experienced a burning sensation in my chest that started the moment I woke up, and lasted the entire day until I fell asleep.

But after a week has passed, the crying stopped, the burning in my chest stopped, and something shifted in me that I didn’t expect. Strength.

I committed to a plan, a break/break-up plan. Gym, yoga, sauna, friends, family, therapy, prayer, mini-vacations, massage, reiki — I don’t need to give you all the details but if any of you are interested I have an entirely fleshed out plan — -And I think we all have something that feeds our soul when we’re feeling lost and afraid, even if we dont know what it is, mine is writing, so I’m always very grateful to be here, especially this month — I’ve been writing into the oblivion.

I can also say the strength I’ve found within myself has come from going to a different house of worship every week, like a church or a synagogue. I know it’s not for everyone, but being there calms me, and restores the peace within my being. I don’t have one church that I go to, so I’ve just been finding them on the internet — last Monday, I found a church walking distance from my apartment — I had to find one walking distance because a possum got into my car and started eating it, so it was in the shop.

Anyway I walked into this church, Saint Hyacinth of Basilica at 7:30pm , and it took about two seconds to realize that the entire service was in Polish, and every single person there was Polish, and I knew they were Polish because I grew up with a handful of Polish babysitters. But I didn’t care, I just stood up when everyone else was standing up, I also took communion like everyone else. Even though I’m not Catholic, and they do need to salt those crackers. I was admiring the painting on the ceiling, the gold accents, the wood, the stained glass, the crown molding and candles — as I walked out with everyone else, a man turned to me and said, “You don’t speak Polish do you?” “No… I thought I was blending in.”

I was recently reading a passage from a book about Greek mythology, about Artemis, the divine huntress. The way she hunted was effortless, she fulfilled her needs so easily and lived in perfect harmony with the forest — And the point this author was trying to make was that, “the love we need to hunt is inside ourselves. But that love is difficult prey. It is so difficult to hunt inside yourself — to get that love from inside you, because anything can distract you from your goal. If you can capture that prey (the love within), you will see that your love can grow strong, and it can fulfill all your needs. You have to surrender to yourself as both the hunter and the prey.” Through this experience, I’m coming home to myself in a way I haven’t experienced before, and I am grateful for that. I’m hunting for the prey, that is — my own heart, and my own soul.

The breakup that initially scared me to death has given me some much needed clarity. I'm a stronger hunter I thought I was. And something I tell my clients all the time — that sometimes, rejection is protection, a way for the universe to steer us in the right direction, away from things that aren’t meant for us, and towards things that are. I can proudly say that I am no longer scared to death.

Love,
Rachel