when I was twenty five years old, experiencing the long, excruciating ending of a nearly six year relationship with my first serious partner, I had coffee with an older Asian woman; an acquaintance from work. after listening to my romantic misery, she proceeded to congratulate me (with a high-five, which I reluctantly accepted) for "freeing myself from jail," and then, proceeded to give me a piece of advice I'd carry with me for the rest of my life:

"You must always have a sacred space inside of you, just for you," she said. "it's a place that no partner, no family, no friends can touch. That is the space for your art."

this wisdom took me many years - and many more painful relationships - to truly understand, integrate, and to put into practice. at that moment, I think I was too heartbroken to care about sacred spaces, or art, for that matter. I was young, and having not known better, channeled so much of my attention and energy (both good and bad; neurotic, anxious, and obsessive, or creative, nurturing, and loving) into my relationship -- such that this relationship felt, eventually, like a too-small container for my ever-expanding universe.

I had been with him since I was nineteen, and barely knew myself as a young woman without him. that was the problem. it was a tender, loving relationship like a womb, and I wanted to explode the womb. and eventually, I did.

but the severance of a past, and the death of a joint future -- even a death that _I_ had willingly, deliberately chosen -- felt like a death of myself. after it ended, I felt as though I had fractured into a thousand pieces and was now floating, blank and lost, in the far recesses of outer space. I stumbled through the days as if walking barefoot on glass shards -- every unexpected fall connecting me to an entire ecosystem of pain.

every night, I slept on my stomach, as if protecting my own womb. that year, my tarot card of the year was "Death." I woke up feeling as though I was living a new death, everyday - with seemingly no end.

accepting your own death

I think we die many times in one life, before we actually die - but if we're present with it, each death is also a moment of transformation, possibility, and poignant rebirth.

but of course, death is such a lonely experience. when you're deep inside an ending, there are few things that people outside can say to make you feel better. re-engaging with your ex-partner only re-opens the wound -- momentarily soothing, then acutely painful -- but you do it, anyway; at least for a while. it is hard to remember and recollect the tender embryo of the self. but this is what you must do.

the dissonance between inner and outer worlds feels jarring; like being inside weeks and months of dark tsunami weather, even while the world outside continues, as it always did. it's as if you've fallen into a crevice in time. outside, people carry on with laundry and traffic and commutes -- while your emotional weather is that of morning apocalypses, afternoon sinkholes and shit-storms, and the constant, inescapable feeling of drowning. this is your dark place.

I've lived these relationship deaths so many times, that over time, I've curated my own routine for post-breakup rebirth (shared below). each time, it's dramatic and different flavors of terrible. each time, I wake up, asking myself: how is it possible that so much suffering can be triggered by one person? why does intimacy open up such deep wounds, and why does the ending of one relationship feel like the death of a universe (even while, logically, my brain knows that it is not).

my answer to this question usually tells me that an intimate relationship is always about something greater and more expansive -- than just that one person. we don't only fall in love with a person, but with the metaphor of who they are in our lives. the loss feels bigger, because it also feels like a loss of everything the partner represented: their care and love, but also their character, ideals, and values, their hopes and dreams, their perspective on the world, and their promises for the future.

in re-centering myself after a relationship ending, what always helps me is to remember this: that those qualities we long for, those dreams we imagined, and that love we seek -- these are also qualities that live within ourselves; even if they are dormant. we fall in love with an "other," yes -- but also with a version of ourselves that we see in the other, and also with who we were, and how we felt around them.

a few years ago, in a bookstore in Paris, I read a book by Rilke which described loss as the ultimate possession. in his case, he was referring to a black cat, but I think this certainly applies to relationships:

"finding. losing. have you truly considered what it means to lose something? it is not simply the negation of that other, generous moment that answered an expectation you never suspected you had. for between that moment and the loss there always comes what we call -- however clumsily, I agree -- possession.

now a loss, however cruel it may be, has no power over possession. it ends the possession, if you wish; it affirms it; but ultimately it is a second acquisition, entirely inward this time, and far more intense.

--Rainer Maria Rilke, 1920.

embracing the dark place

I want to say that death and darkness can feel, almost enjoyable -- like an acquired taste for bitter drinks, or monsoon season -- _if_ you truly surrender to it. if you truly accept it without resistance, it can be a portal of expansion -- "death is the mother of beauty," wrote Wallace Stevens, and thus, creation -- not only of art, but of a new life. your new life.

this means that you must fully, radically accept the present crisis. accept that a period of (seemingly infinite) time will feel excruciatingly hard, and every fiber of your being will be stretched to a breaking point. accept that you'll feel weak, uncertain, and lost in the world.

see this as a good thing. when choosing to end a relationship; you must to remind yourself that this is a choice -- even if you were the one left behind. this doesn't matter. you must choose yourself, always -- and this means choosing to live a life, and a love -- that will love you back.

this also means choosing to let an old self and old dreams die -- to choose to surrender, fully, to life, in all its pain and glory.

in these moments, what keeps me moving is to first, prioritize self-soothing while learning to accept the darkness and uncertainty. learn to see darkness as a place inside you -- a place not to avoid, but to sink into, and embrace, as your greatest teacher.

in the process of emerging from the darkness, you'll then slowly and gently rediscover yourself, as you seek those slivers of beauty and shards of truth to carry you into an unknowable future. you'll discover new ways to love yourself -- you'll fall in love again, with your own life.

ending a relationship, in that sense, can be such an empowering thing. it means taking a stand to choose yourself -- to claim the role of heroine, hero, protagonist of your won story -- and in doing so, taking radical responsibility for your life. this is where you'll make creative work, from that raw, dark place. this is where you'll find your power.

part 2

post-breakup rebirth resources & routines

now, the question is: how? what tools and routines can help me navigate through crisis weeks and months, and emerge out the other side of the dark tunnel?

here, I wanted to share a process I (organically) curated for myself, and some of my favorite resources and go-to practices for SOS days. I definitely encourage you to instinctively seek out whatever works for you -- find your own routine, your own way of relating to yourself and your wounds, and let your body/heart/soul lead the way. see it as a beautiful, experimental journey into your rebirth.

(as you can see, my methods are quite comprehensive and intense, corresponding to the dark heaviness I feel in these situations. if your break-up experiences feel less in need of complex, dire measures, consider yourself blessed. I envy you!)

I've loosely divided it into 3 phases/processes, which are NON-LINEAR -- as in, you don't move from process 1-2-3 and be done; you might move through them again and again, in circles. but over time, the edges might feel less sharp and violent, and more smooth - especially as you surrender to the oceanic forces - like turning the glass shards in your heart into sea glass.

Process 1 - EMERGENCY SOOTHING

in this phase, your focus is on emotional first aid. you try to stop the bleeding by putting pressure on the wound. you ice. you rest. (or you just let yourself bleed.) you don't expect resolutions, or clarity. you definitely shouldn't be seeking closure (however tempting this feels). instead, you trust in the magic medicine of time. you sit, holding your heart in the darkness, and try to speak kind, gentle things to it. you wait out the long night. you spend time with nourishing friends. allow yourself to wallow, to sleep, and to treat yourself as though you came down with a very bad, long-lasting, non-infectious sickness -- called heartbreak.

unless you want to prolong the healing process, resist the temptation to reconnect with your ex-partner. (this may not be true in ALL situations, but from my experience, it has been.) if you are to find peace and resolution - it will come eventually, in time.

A LIST FOR SOOTHING

close friends to listen to and hug you
lots of herbal tea, all the time.
a quiet place and your journal.
a yoga practice: yoga with adriene's yoga for anxiety and stress
a yin yoga practice with yogamelbourne
a meditation from Sarah Blondin: learning to surrender
make a medicine playlist of songs that make you feel healed. my favorites are: X, Y, Z.
take a long bath or shower
a long walk in nature
traveling; an escape to another place
find good songs to cry to
go to coffee shops and just sit there
stare out into the distance
a poem: love after love by derek walcott
a poem: i am running into my future

Process 2 - RE-CENTERING

once you see the first glimmer of sunrise after the dark night -- however brief -- and your days feel a little bit lighter; once you feel as though you can breathe again, even if just barely, here is where you gather the energy to do healthy things. give yourself a bit of a push. be your gentle drill sergeant. get out of bed. take a shower. eat nourishing food. go on a walk. go run. do yoga. meditate. sleep early. remind yourself that you have the strength to take care of your body. hold yourself accountable to basic self-care routines.

here, you deliberately practice feeling good in your body -- as the only real home you have. it is your vessel to hold the heart. this is especially important when you're in withdrawal from physical affection and touch. take care of your body as though you were the love of your own life. gather wood, carry water.

A LIST FOR CENTERING

create a basic self-care routine to stick to, everyday
try this 30 minute centering ritual
go on a long walk or run
cook something nourishing for yourself, with intention
sleep early
do a vinyasa or ashtanga yoga practice
meditate simply; ie, alternate nostril breathing to a 5 minute piece of music.
sleep early
journal everyday - deep journaling, if you can summon the energy
listen to eckhart tolle's the power of now* on audiobook.
read/listen to other books on spirituality
speak with close friends

Process 3 - PRESENCE

if you've found trust in your rhythms of self-soothing, and have practiced a basic self-care routine, you've watered your vessel, and laid the foundation for the rebirthing work to begin. I find that I can't normally create art when I'm in 100% SOS/crisis mode -- I have to first calm the wounded inner child, then work on nourishing the body, and then I can come to the blank page with something to say -- without being sidetracked by the terrible sounds in my head.

in this phase, I listen. I write, free-flow. I collect words and sentences and memories, like an emotional archivist of myself. I draw a visual diary of what I'm feeling, experiencing, going through in that moment - or that day. I paint a moon journal. I process my emotions through writing, and art, and deep journaling practices.

and, I try to make myself feel beautiful, and loved. I put on makeup, take myself out on long walks, cook nice meals, drink wine, watch a movie, write myself love letters, leave myself audio notes, set reminders to take care of myself - when I inevitably fall into emotional holes. here, I build the trust in time and movement to carry me onwards. I start noticing more beauty on my walks, and gradually, it's as though the world is crisper, and more vibrant, more full of color.

A LIST FOR PRESENCE

make a daily mood diary, or moon journals
make a vessel to hold your emotions -- like my dark place
practice deep journaling - asking yourself hard questions.
go to calm cafes and journal with your favorite pen
walk in nature and notice beautiful things
walk in cities and notice beautiful things
cook a really nice meal for yourself
take yourself out on a date
write yourself love letters
leave audio notes or audio diaries
write letters or record notes to your ex-partner (without sending them)
give yourself little challenges
give yourself little treats and indulgences
have conversations with your inner child
do the work that feels good
channel your energy into other creative projects
travel somewhere new
send yourself to an intensive journaling retreat
follow what gives you inspiration and energy
speak with close friends
read: Women who Run with the Wolves

how long does it take?

I once wrote a piece called, "I calculated how long it takes me to get over a man" -- and came up with a ballpark estimate, based on past data. that piece is not meant to be literal -- but I have found that when time feels too slow and oppressive, it helps to have concrete number to hold onto; like being stuck inside a jail (or a dark tunnel) and scratching tally marks on the stone walls. if you remember that one day, after a certain set of tallies, you WILL be on the other side of this prison, you will feel more motivated to get through each day.

the rhythm and time will feel different for everyone and every situation, but I've found that I try to focus on Process 1: Soothing for at least 1-3 weeks, before adding on Process 2: Centering.

once I've committed to the process of Centering, I might not feel amazing, but I have the desire to feel alive again, and this desire is the most important thing. I'll commit to Centering (with gentle, yet firm resolve) for 2-3 weeks before asking myself any questions about what's next.

as in: I don't make big decisions or do hard things, until I'm feeling more on center. I don't push for clarity and resolve and resolution, or pressure myself to know what to do. instead, I nourish my body. I center the vessel of myself. I nurture a nest ambience in my living space. I allow life to unfold for me, instead of forcing. and I trust that time will reveal all.

usually, I'm feeling better after even just 1 week of centering. once I feel like I have the energy and motivation, I add on Process 3: Presence. here is where I listen, once again, to all of my deepest, darkest emotions - and respond to them, process them from a more resourced place. I transmute my day-to-day emotions into art -- seeing it as a beautiful opportunity, because I know that art likes the dark. I explore my relationship dynamics, events, history, journal entries - I excavate my romantic past like an archeologist, and do the Deep Work that brings uncomfortable things to the surface.

then afterwards, I have to re-center again, soothe again. the process never ends. rebirthing, after all -- is a circular journey of going deeper and deeper into yourself; shedding and reemerging.

these days, I recall that SOS, emergency mode with a fond nostalgia -- it's that version of me that kicks in when I'm in crisis mode, and I'm feeling so alone in the world. she's always there for me. she's older and wiser, and has survived so much worse shit. she pushes me to take care of my body, to do the emotional work, and promises me that greater things in the future await me, if only I run at full speeds, towards it.

as I'm writing this, I realize that all those years ago, the older woman at the cafe was actually me. she was my messenger from the universe -- an embodied voice for my infinitely wiser, older self -- telling me what to do to rebirth, and create that sacred, untouchable space within me, where my art can be expansive enough to hold: everything. it took time, but I did it, until now it feels like breathing. and I promise you that you can, too.

I send guide.notes - a newsletter on the process & how of nurturing the creative life. I also send a monthly artist digest (below).

break-ups as rebirth: self-care for heartbreak