Right now, it feels like the walls are caving in. It’s getting harder and harder to breathe. The light you’re supposed to see at the end of the tunnel is so distant, so faint, that you’re pretty sure it’s not there at all. It hurts too much. Right now, everything feels wrong.
Heartbreak is one of the most powerful, raw, gut-wrenching feelings. It really does feel like the heart is breaking, like your organs are going to start shutting down and you’ll be gone by morning. It’s physical. A kind of sorrow that isn’t just emotional. It’s not in your head. It’s real.
And you’re not sure how you’re going to survive.
In the eye of the storm, there never seems like a way out. It’s too difficult to see. It seems impossible to look at the chaos in front of you and believe there’s life after it. How could that be? How could anything exist beyond this?
But it does. Because you are a hell of a lot stronger than you’re giving yourself credit for. Human beings are tough. We make it through natural disasters. We grieve and mourn and face unspeakable tragedies. But we also rebuild. Bit by bit. Little by little.
Your survival might not look shiny and big. It might not be like you see in TV or movies, bouncing back with a newfound confidence and swing in your hips. It might be quiet. It might be unassuming.
Heartbreak feels like the body is dying, like your chest has taken a one-two punch and the bruises are never going away.
But bruises do fade. Scars grow lighter.
I’m not saying you forget it. I’m not saying the melancholy can’t find you again, can’t visit you when you thought you were finally over it.
I’m saying survival is not supposed to be pretty. It’s not supposed to be easy or light.
But the next part? The part after survival? It reaffirms a spectacular thing. You are resilient. You are always capable to rebuild.