With the growling sound of gas forming in my stomach and the painful twitching of the tissue in the gastric system due to lack of food, sleep, and the toll the brain is causing on the body on its rampage of chemical reactions raging against its emotional distress, I find myself asking, how can anybody survive this?
If you have been following my posts for the last five years or noticed the three-year gap between my previous post and this one, you’re probably asking yourself, “What on earth are you talking about? What happened to you?.”
These are all very valid questions. And to be honest, I don’t think I can answer those questions myself because, well, I’m not sure what happened either. All I know for sure now is that I’m now living in New York City, I’m divorced, and everything I loved, believed, or possessed stayed behind. I’m on a journey of grief and self-discovery, learning to mourn love.
Let’s step back for a moment.
The Foundation of Relationships
Few of us ever consider the possibility of ending up heartbroken and lost when we look into the eyes of those we commit our lives to. To do so would feel like a betrayal of their commitment and love. When we walk down the aisle and make our vows, we are making a promise to uphold the commitment we offer to each other—the foundation of a human relationship.
Trust.
Yet, it seems like every year, more and more of us find ourselves in this dark place, broken and lost, whether we fought for our relationship or against it.
In 2022, my then-wife and I were moving to the US from Japan. It was a long and draining process that took a tremendous toll on our spirits and our relationship’s foundation—a real test of our bond. To facilitate the process and ease her uncertainty, we decided to have her move ahead of me and start her journey of job hunting and settling. The four-month separation was painful and forced us to be creative and patient with each other.
Thankfully, we endured.
After the honeymoon of reunion faded away, we knew there was much work ahead of us. We needed to settle down in a new world, find new jobs, make new friends, and build a home—which we did. Yet, something was festering in the foundation of our relationship, and sadly, I was not equipped to address it, let alone notice the signs.
Maybe it was the comfort of routine; maybe it was the illusion of healthy communication and safety, or maybe it was just our ignorance and immaturity. I really don’t know. But eventually, decisions were made, and things started to happen—terrible things, things that scarred me and will haunt me for life.
Trust was violated, you chose to walk away, and my heart was shattered.
The Aftermath
After a painful and disorienting process of divorce that felt like a whirlwind out of control, I was left a shell of myself. I was powerless, directionless, struggling to get myself out of bed. I could not recognize the face looking back at me in the mirror. “How could you let this happen?” I would ask myself. “How could she do this? What did I do wrong? How could love not be enough?.”
Every morning, I opened my eyes, exhausted. My logical brain would go into overdrive, struggling to find answers to explain human behavior and the gaps in my knowledge. Meanwhile, my emotional brain, ripped apart by the pain, grappled with the reality that I had woken up again to a world where the love of my life left me behind.
I had lost my family, my best friend, my identity. As painful as it is to admit, I was now on my own.
What’s more, my mind could not consolidate the realities of my love for this human being, this person I have known for so long and shared so many beautiful memories with, as well as her betrayal and capacity to wreak havoc in my heart and walk away. I have never experienced a pain this excruciating, nor could I fathom a way to survive it.
Spiraling Down
“How could she do this? What did I do wrong? Why was I not enough?”
I didn’t know this at the moment, but I was asking the wrong questions. And in truth, asking myself questions was not what I needed. What I needed was to mourn. I needed to sit down and grieve, feel the pain, the turmoil, the void—feel it all—raw and without filter.
This is no easy task. We all develop coping mechanisms to handle the stressors of life, particularly in our formative years when we are most vulnerable and dependent on our parents and peers.
- We become avoidant when our parents are abusive or unpredictable.
- We become codependent when our parents are unavailable or neglectful.
- We might use alcohol or drugs to numb the anxiety nagging in our brains or the emotions we are not well equipped to handle.
- We might develop an unhealthy relationship with our bodies or our self-esteem when we seek a source of control or leverage against the chaotic uncertainty of life.
The human brain does this to survive, and it’s unavoidable.
My coping mechanism was distraction and the escapism of death. I needed to stay distracted every second I was awake to avoid being swept away by my emotions. And when the waves arrived, usually at night, I would fantasize about dying—disappearing completely—and having all my painful feelings gone with me.
Let’s rise for a bit of air.
Learning to Mourn Love
In hindsight, I was not ready for this. The sheer amount of trauma and heartbreak, lies, and deception that I needed to unpack and process was too much for even the strongest heart. It was unreasonable for me and my therapist to assume I could handle this alone.
I was not equipped to mourn love. But I had my routine.
Every day, I would get out of bed at whatever hour, make sure I drank enough water, and get some movement. It helped me tremendously that I had my dog with me. The responsibility of being a good dog dad got me out of the paralysis my mind would get trapped in and out of the comfort of the melancholy that engulfed my house.
After that, I would do whatever amount of work I could muster and get a workout at least every other day. Incidentally, it wasn’t hard to find motivation for the latter when you feel deep inside that someone left you because you’re not enough. Not a great mindset, but it gets your ass to the gym.
This was somewhat sustainable. I was functional, no doubt, but I was not making progress towards overcoming the trauma. I was still escaping the process.
What it Takes to Heal
Eventually, I realized I couldn’t heal where my heart was wounded, feel safe where my trust was violated, or find myself where I got lost. Deep inside my heart, I was hoping to find a way back, a solution to the heartbreak—a miracle. Or maybe I just wanted to wake up and realize this was all a nightmare. But I knew this would never happen. I needed to take a stand for myself.
Because what I needed to realize was that I had failed myself. I had failed to set boundaries and stand by them. I had failed to communicate and build a safe space. I had failed at maintaining my own identity and passion for life. I let the uncertainty and pressure of this new environment distort my sense of self. The challenges I could not overcome made me retreat instead of strengthening my resolve or learning the lesson life was trying to teach me.
Maybe I was not privileged enough to earn true loyalty, but I was not foolish enough to ignore its absence.
So I left.
I left everything behind: my house, my possessions, my friends, my safety, and my sense of self. I left to find myself and adequately mourn the life I had lost. I needed to mourn the future that will never be, the kids I will never have, and the friend who won’t be there with me, helping me live this short, uncertain life. I let go.
A New Life
That takes us to where I am now, writing this at a cafe somewhere in Brooklyn. I am still trying to figure out who this person is, still trying to learn how to mourn love, and trying to take care of little Juan.
The truth is there is no escape, trick, shortcut, or formula for processing heartbreak. Our job is to feel the pain and grief—to acknowledge it and sit with it. We must cry, rage, lie down, thrash, bargain, run, scream, apologize, blame, get up, and sleep. We must feel it all and, in the end, remember that we are only human and be compassionate with ourselves. It will take some time—probably more than what you would like. But it will get better. So just be.
Remember, the objective is not to defeat grief but to not let it win. Eventually, you will reach a point where sadness is no longer the most comfortable state of being.
There’s still a lot to unpack, and I’m not sure I’m ready yet, but it feels good to write to you again.
I look forward to writing to you again soon.
I see you.
