There is something comforting about being down on your knees and crying into your palms, your body folded and pressed against the cold tile of your bathroom floor. I’ve been there many times — sometimes to escape the chaos of a screaming match, other times to find refuge during a sleepless night. Looking back at those moments, I suspect that when my spirit hit rock bottom, my body sought it in the physical form.
Cognitive dissonance.
In the field of psychology, cognitive dissonance is “the mental discomfort experienced by a person who holds two or more contradictory beliefs, ideas, or values.”
Two or more contradictory beliefs.
“I am happily engaged”
“I feel so alone”
“We love each other”
“We keep hurting each other”
In the past two years, I’ve learned and unlearned many things — but the topic I’ve been tested on the most is love. Real, authentic, painful, messy, ‘so deep it gets dark’ love.
Have you ever experienced a love like that, and then learned to live without it? It’s jarring. To go from conversations about ten year plans and housing costs in various markets and baby names and how we would raise said babies (limited screen time and a lot of hiking and camping, early on), to robotic yet appropriate texts wishing each other well — it was excruciating.
It took me about 12 months (plus change) to learn how to fill that void. At first, I looked outside of myself for distractions. Staying busy was safe. Keeping things casual was safe. Not having to think about my feelings and pouring myself another glass of wine was safe. Eventually though, ‘safe’ no longer felt good. Safe bruised my ego, and hurt me more than it helped me. With time, I realized I needed to redefine what I considered safe — so I looked inward.
I wrote, a lot.
I cried, a lot.
I turned to plant medicine and reiki and meditation, a lot.
Most importantly though, I prayed.
During this time I felt a deeper connection to God than I ever had before. Not religion — God. For the first time in my life, my reality was so scrambled that rather than trying to make sense of it, I learned to let go and just trust. I never asked why — I just knew there was a why, and it wasn’t my place to know it quite yet.
By letting go of the questioning and simply
b e i n g,
I gave my soul the space to heal. I also learned three very important lessons — about love, loss, and listening to your intuition.
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LESSON 1: LOVE
In the past, I loved so deeply that I lost myself in the process. The other was always more important than myself. No matter what. I found my value by giving — by being understanding, by being malleable, by being a shape shifter that could always make it work. I sacrificed my needs willingly, because ‘not needing anything’ filled me with pride- and I wore it like a badge. But if I’m being honest, my true motive wasn’t as honorable.
I hoped that by not having any needs, it would ensure I would always be needed.
Spoiler alert: it doesn’t
Upon reflection, I learned that my “selfless” habit was actually a form of codependency, and one that can cause more damage in the long run.
Why? Because you teach others how you deserve to be treated.
If you do not define your own boundaries, you can not blame someone for crossing them. If you do not vocalize what your needs are, you can not blame someone for not meeting them. And if you do set these parameters and someone chooses to cross them anyway, then it is on YOU, and you alone, to walk away. End of story.
If you are like me, it is easy to feel like a victim when you have been wronged, or mistreated, or taken advantage of. But what I recognize now is that I was not a victim, but an active participant.
Now, I’m practicing how to take up space — to own what I feel and what I need, and to walk away from situations and individuals that are unable to house me. It’s anxiety inducing at times, but after years of shrinking myself to the point of suffocation — it feels damn good to breathe.
LESSON TWO: LOSS
Grief is a b*tch, isn’t it? My second lesson was learning to grieve with grace. Letting go of a life partner who I loved immensely left me cracked wide open and vulnerable to crushing waves of sadness. I had never experienced anything like it. But what I learned quickly was the only way forward was through it. Avoiding my feelings only delayed the healing process — and healing was already messy enough as it was.
By allowing myself to process every up and down, I realized that emotions are temporary, and grief is cyclical — and this has been immensely comforting for me. When an emotion hits — any emotion — if you allow yourself to simply feel it, rather than attaching a mental dialogue to it, it will pass.
What did this look like? If and when I felt sad, I cried. I wouldn’t ask why this was happening, or when this feeling would end — I just cried. I allowed myself to grieve the loss of what was, without engaging in mental dialogue that would prolong it. And like magic, it would pass. I could continue on with my day, feeling lighter and with a more open heart, and every time I felt more empowered and grateful for it.
What I know now is that if we don’t give our emotions the attention and love and patience that they deserve, they will crack through the surface and manifest themselves in different ways. We carry our trauma with us in our bones. Processing and releasing the weight of our past experiences is hard work, but it is absolutely necessary. If we don’t — they will slow us down at best, drown us at worst.
LESSON THREE: LISTEN
I would argue that my third and final lesson was the most important one of all — learning to listen to my Intuition.
When I reflect back on the darker, more volatile moments of love, one thing remains consistent — the little voice in my head and heavy pit in my stomach, both pleading with me to pay attention. Something was wrong — really wrong — but I didn’t want to acknowledge it.
Since I was a kid, I’ve been unsure of myself. My go-to answer for personal and important questions was often “I don’t know” — because the process of having to really listen to my mind and my heart and formulate an opinion that was mine, and mine alone, would leave me vulnerable to rejection. So, rather than honoring the wisdom I was born with, I would seek answers from others.
“Is this dress cute?”
“Is this text okay?”
“Should we keep going to therapy?”
“Should we break up?”
Seeking answers from others is a dangerous habit, especially if you haven’t taken the time to ask yourself the same questions you impose on others. It is painstakingly clear to me now that I always knew the answers to my questions — my body was screaming them to me all along. But it took me months to build up the courage to really listen to and trust what I had to say.
We all have gut feelings — that spidey sense that tells us something is off, even if we don’t yet have tangible evidence that proves why. I’ve learned to lean into that gut feeling, and trust it — because I know now that when you ignore it, the signs simply become louder and louder, until ignorance is no longer an option.
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Over the last several months, I’ve nurtured and built up a lighter love. A love that is forgiving, and tender, and kind. One that is mine, and mine alone. And one I’ve directed only to myself.
Do I feel lonely sometimes? Of course. After 12 hour work days, it would be wonderful to come home to someone I love dearly, who wants to cook dinner with me and watch Netflix. But in those moments of loneliness, I think of all the amazing moments I have experienced in this past year — like eating alone at a restaurant that I love, and chatting up the bartender turned friend who knows exactly how I like my wine (poured right up to the brim of the glass). Or waking up early for a sunrise hike, when the trail is so quiet that I can feel nothing but the morning mist and my breath and the grace of God. Or walking down the chaotic, colorful, beautiful alleyways of Hong Kong and suddenly thinking “….holy sh*t. This is your LIFE. YOU created THIS life”.
The solitude can be hard, but it can also be really, really beautiful.
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A few days after my 30th birthday, my fiance and I called off our wedding and ended our relationship.
A few days after my 31st birthday, I packed up my life and moved to Hong Kong.
Those are two sentences I never thought would be a part of my life plan…but I am so, so grateful that they are. Growth is a beautiful thing.
