Healing isn’t a one-day fix; it took me four years.
My final year of high school, university applications were swallowing me whole. Every question on those forms felt like a tiny voice asking, “What do you even want to do with your life?” Dating? That felt like another decision to pile onto the mountain of standardised tests and goodbyes hanging over my head.
Then, enter *Dexter. A total surprise, courtesy of my friend’s well-meaning mom. Unlike those meticulously planned university applications, this connection felt refreshingly unplanned.
He’d show up at my door with flowers in hand, a walking contradiction to the stress of my final year. My sister practically claimed him as a big brother on the spot, and even my mom couldn’t resist his charm.
The guy was handsome, sweet, and funny – everything an eighteen-year-old dreams of. The kind of guy who’d make your heart write love songs.
The one whose name you doodle all over your notebooks. He was my first real love, unfolding in slow motion soundtracks and cheesy moments together. (He even tried to serenade me with an off-key Adele song. Sweet, a little cringey, but adorable.)
But he was also my first heartbreak.
The butterflies I had felt was replaced by the sudden sting of a relationship cut short. Leaving me with mascara-stained tears, questions and enough Adele to soundtrack every breakup scene in every teen movie.
Devastated and angry, I asked myself, “What would Oprah say?”
I knew Oprah wasn’t a therapist with a magic heartbreak hotline, but her down-to-earth wisdom always resonated with me. Maybe, I thought, she’d tell me to “love myself more than yesterday.” It was exactly what I needed to hear.
Life, however, offered its own lessons, served with a generous helping of emotional baggage. My breakup taught me:
True friends are worth their weight in gold. They’ll be there to pick you up when you’re drowning your sorrows (in ice cream, not tears… okay, maybe some tears).
They practically dragged me out dancing, proving that Beyoncé could at least make crying more fun.
Your emotions will do a 180. One minute I wanted to cuddle him forever, the next I wanted to throw a dictionary at his head for bad grammar. (Seriously, what does “it’s not you, it’s me” even mean?)
Letting go felt like trying on those old skinny jeans from high school. You desperately want to squeeze back in, but reality hits you hard (and in the thighs).
Clinging to the past only prolonged the pain. Eventually, I had to accept the new reality – and buy some damn new jeans that actually fit.
This breakup also showed me my own strength. It took time to process the whole thing. Hanging out with friends and forcing a smile, even when it felt fake, helped.
If I could handle this kind of heartbreak, I knew I could handle anything life threw my way.
There were moments, for sure, when my laughter was replaced by a longing to be swallowed whole by the earth. Even the most cliché “things will get better” felt empty.
I guarded my heart a little closer, afraid of getting hurt again. But that’s okay.
The emotional mess taught me that even the stormiest heartbreak eventually gives way to sunshine.
And if all else fails, there’s always waterproof mascara and a killer Beyoncé playlist.
Mental Matters is a resource and information platform. We do not provide medical advice, diagnosis, or treatment. While the information on our website is for general awareness and support, it should not replace professional advice. For any mental health concerns, please consult a qualified healthcare or mental health professional.
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