Ever since I broke up with my first serious partner (long may he be served weak coffee with sour milk), loss has felt like the emotional parallel to being dragged naked through a burning field of devil thorns. During the week I left my latest ex, I stumbled on someone who was handling her breakup like a goddess so I asked her what her secret was. She spouted reams of wisdom, but I latched onto one thing in particular: She’d added a fuckton of new and positive things to her life and focused on them.
I do believe I’ve found the holy grail of breakup management thanks to that genius.
By now you all know that my workout routine has led to instant six-pack-abs. </overstatement> You also know I’ve been dating. I’m not exactly ready to hop under a new man just yet, but that doesn’t mean I have to miss out on the light-hearted side of being spoiled by a sexy-ass mo’fo with the vocabulary of The Shorter Oxford English Dictionary.
I still feel shy as fuck, but I’m not letting it keep me at home on Friday afternoon wearing a terrycloth robe. Fuck that. I’ll spend it in a tea garden drinking fantastic cappuccinos (no sour milk included) while my brain gets off to the sound of him using words like absquatulate and obfuscate. </irony> I’ll even listen to the one syllable words he uses in-between.
The third part of my breakup management plan is weekly therapy because I can. God knows I need it.
In the past, I used to handle heartbreak by becoming a temporary work addict. It was good for numbing feelings, but that was about all. Getting out with friends and hot men wearing my rapidly evolving biceps is doing excellent things for my misery. I didn’t realise how much until I fell ill yesterday and had to quit all my new hobbies for the weekend.
Yesterday I lay on my couch wailing from the moment I woke up until the second I fell asleep, and not in a fun way. Even “Spartacus; Blood and Sand’s” sawn off limbs and orgies did nothing for my broken heart and swollen eyes.
Processing feelings is important, but so is compartmentalisation. I suspect that might be the most powerful part of my breakup plan: When I’m focusing on happy things, my entire outlook on the sad stuff improves. There are always things worth celebrating in this life, no matter how dark the shadows get at times. I can cry, but I can also be sane about the pain instead of drowning in its tears. I can be my own damn valentine, and I’m discovering I’m a pretty great one.
Now if you’ll excuse me, I have a date with some naked gladiators.