Threads of Loss & Love

It was a jolt, an unexpected severing I wasn't emotionally equipped for--my body still pulsing from the shock. A hopeful part of me had painted a picture of forever, starkly contrasting with the whispers that this relationship perhaps wasn't serving my deeper needs. The love was real, and a part of me clung to the comfort of what was, even though I yearned for more.

Even so, I adored the language of our touch, the playful energy between us. My body spoke a clear "yes," and my own heart had journeyed from uncertainty to unwavering affirmation--and even devotion throughout our time together. The slow physical pace we set, even our decision to seek couples therapy, felt significant. So, to finally find solace in that connection, to begin trusting and leaning in, only for it to disappear, echoed in my bones like a profound betrayal.

The grief that has resurfaced since our break-up feels ancient and familiar. My nervous system, dysregulated and anxious, delivered it in waves of numbness, fog, and a profound heaviness. And behind the anxiety was the unmistakable pang of deep attachment loss, a raw ache that felt like the concentrated sorrow of every love I've ever had and subsequently lost. Grief numbs and dulls, and freezes--like a cold plunge of the soul--but without the dopamine rush.

Depression has been a lifelong companion, a familiar adversary throughout my life. Yet, grief arrives and seems to summon it back with an undeniable force. I've spent years in a constant push against depression, but grief...it's a different beast entirely. One with a sharper bite and a deeper, more visceral pain.

Ugh, the pain is immense, a sudden, brutal collision with the full weight of human existence, which I realize sounds dramatic, but that is how it feels. It comes with the inherent struggles, the feeling of futility, the profound existential void--all surfacing at once. It's always there, lurking beneath, needing only a trigger to demand recognition. And now that it has arrived, its intensity is overwhelming, and I long for its departure as these past weeks of feeling have been an unbearable eternity.

Time, however, is irrelevant to grief's vastness. Despite my hope that this surge would have passed, I remain attached to a simple cat toy, a stark reminder of him. Two years ago, in a pet store before he knew my animals, he chose it. Now, this small object represents the last physical trace of a relationship that throbs with an unnamable sorrow.

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But it will come again as the only way to avoid grief is to avoid love, which is what I have spent a lot of time doing. Not getting too invested, keeping a certain amount of distance between myself and others, and definitely not getting involved with people who would be available for the type of relationship I want. Instead, I focus on friendship because it feels easier and with a greater payoff.

Romantic love, for me, has been a pleasant addition, not the cornerstone of my existence. Perhaps my lower prioritization stems from a history of letdowns and a certain resentment at its assumed supremacy over friendships and community. This current grief over a relationship ending is intertwined with a broader frustration at how romantic love is positioned as the ultimate goal in our society. It angers me that I've been subtly indoctrinated to believe partnership will ease life's burdens, despite the significant evidence suggesting a different reality for many women.

I want friendship and romantic love to be equal in scope and value and I feel unsure our current structures can ever allow for this.

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Though whether I resent the system or not, the grief remains.

I recognize this grief, this profound soul-pain I work so diligently to push away, and I see now that it carries its own unique beauty. Even the numbness, a stark reminder of the inevitability of loss, has a somber grace. The desire for instant relief is there, but I choose to sit with the tears, their steady stream a beautiful and painful opening of my heart to the love I held.

Every break-up feels like all of the remnants from the past drudge up to join it. I write lists to name my grief and relief and remind myself how much I loved and that no amount of care can make up for when we are that hurt. I cry, sometimes it becomes weeping. Sometimes instead of feeling I disassociate into social media or TV, because I don't feel like being present. And bit by bit the tears arrive less frequently and met with a tiny amount of gratitude.

A reminder that I had the courage to love despite my fear. Then remember how heartbreaking to see how our individual histories of trauma, both the major events and the subtle wounds, subtly undermined our capacity to build the connection we truly desired. I don't know if we will try again or how our lives will evolve apart, but I still hold it close to my heart.

Looking back, this breakup feels like a convergence of every loss I've ever experienced, a painful resurfacing of every past heartbreak. Suddenly, the ache of lost friendships, the memory of someone I dated fourteen years ago during the loss of my dog, all flood back. The grief for the planet, Gaza, all of it. And there's nothing left to do but grieve – to mourn the unmet needs, the parts of me that felt invisible, and all the love that wants to go somewhere. And instead of directing it outward, I breathe it back to myself.

But then the truth strikes: it's not the lost relationships themselves that haunt me, but the relational trauma they've left behind, the deep-seated grief of knowing this pain will likely resurface. My nervous system yearns to find rest and stability in the presence of someone who can offer a safe harbor and co-regulation. Instead, I've repeatedly found myself drawn to partners and connections that reignite that familiar ache.

And now the deep work begins...keeping my heart open despite its overwhelming urge to freeze. So, I work to keep it warm, to keep it grateful and curious because I don't want this heartbreak to go by without getting every last drop of lessons. Even if it means befriending grief and letting it rearrange my soul.