Tag: healing

  • We Broke Up, But Why Did We Also Break Apart?

    on post-breakup territory wars and becoming strangers with people we once undressed our souls with

    No one warns you about the silent custody agreement after a breakup.

    You get your side of the city. I get mine.

    You get the bar near your place. I’ll avoid it like it’s cursed.

    I get the bookstore downtown, but only before 2PM, because I know that’s when you usually go.

    The mutual cafe? Dead to both of us.

    We don’t talk about it, but we feel it.

    And suddenly, we’ve turned a love story into a war over real estate.

    We used to walk these streets like we were creating a world together. Now we’re living in the ruins, divided like ex-nations.

    There’s no judge or jury…

    But somehow, we both know which cafés are now forbidden, which parks are now sacred, and whose friends are no longer “neutral ground.”

    And I can’t help but wonder why does a breakup have to mean a complete delete of the non-romantic parts of a connection?

    We weren’t just lovers. We were people.

    Friends, even.

    We shared music, dumb jokes, late-night thoughts about the meaning of life.

    We sat on balconies and talked about our parents.

    We slow-danced in kitchens.

    We cried. We laughed.

    We knew each other.

    So why is it that, after it ends, we’re supposed to act like we never existed?

    Why is “just friends” seen as a downgrade, not a grace?

    Why do their friends have to stop being our friends?

    Why is it suddenly “too weird” to say hi without pretending like the past didn’t happen?

    Why does the end of romance mean the end of all relating?

    Maybe it’s ego.

    Maybe it’s pain.

    Maybe it’s our culture telling us to “cut the cord” and never look back.

    But maybe, just maybe, we’ve forgotten how to hold space for nuance.

    Maybe two people can love each other deeply, part ways honestly, and still care, without it being “messy.”

    Maybe it’s possible to outgrow the role without erasing the person.

    To say:

    “I no longer want you as my partner, but I still respect who you are.”

    “I won’t be at your birthday party, but I hope someone brings your favorite cake.”

    “I’m not yours anymore, but I hope you’re happy.”

    “I’m moving on, but I remember us fondly.”

    We don’t have to vanish from each other’s lives like ghosts.

    We don’t have to pretend it didn’t matter.

    It did.

    It just doesn’t anymore.

    And maybe that’s okay.

  • Can We Really Meet “The One” Before We’re Healed?

    …or are we just falling in love with different versions of our own wounds?

    At first, I thought I had a type.
    You know; emotionally unavailable, mysterious, says things like “I don’t believe in labels,” and somehow ruins me with a smile.
    But after the third version of the same man with a different star sign, I started to ask:
    Is this really my type… or is this my trauma playing dress-up?

    Because the truth is: we attract what we are.
    Not on the surface, not what we look like, or what we post, or even what we say we want.
    We attract from the core wound. From the energy we haven’t healed. From the version of us that still doesn’t fully believe we deserve the love we crave.

    So maybe the reason we keep falling for the same kinds of people isn’t bad luck or bad taste.
    Maybe it’s a mirror.
    Maybe it’s the universe screaming look at yourself.
    Maybe it’s that unresolved need to be chosen by someone who doesn’t know how to choose themselves.

    And here’s the cosmic twist that no one wants to say out loud:
    You might not meet the “right one” until you become the version of yourself who can actually receive them.

    Because soulmates aren’t here to complete us, they’re here to reflect us.
    And if we’re still fragmented, afraid, closed off or secretly addicted to chaos… Guess what we attract?

    Another incomplete mirror.

    So can we meet the one before we’re healed?
    Maybe.
    But chances are, we’ll push them away.
    Or sabotage it.
    Or not even recognize them, because we’re still wired to crave the pain we’re used to.

    Healing isn’t about being perfect.
    It’s about being aware.
    Aware enough to stop blaming everyone else for the ways we keep breaking our own heart.

    So if you keep attracting the same type… pause.
    Ask yourself: What part of me is still choosing this dynamic? What part of me thinks this is love?

    And more importantly… Who do I become when I stop chasing the reflection… and start becoming the source?