Someone sent me this question on Formspring last week. I chose to post my response here, first because I’m not sure anyone really reads my responses on Formspring, and second because I wanted my thoughts on this documented, if only to remind me of what a difference a few years makes.

When was the last time you had your heart broken? What did you do to mend it?

First let me say that I’m sorry if you’ve had your heart broken recently. If you’re doing it right, I’m sure it feels like open heart surgery, only you’re awake and George Bush is holding the scalpel. Maybe I should leave politics out of this.

What You Don’t Do

As my friend Kim in Florida and I like to say, you don’t bring out the crazy. You don’t send pictures to his parents of the two of you naked and you don’t break into his voice or email. You don’t coat his car in spray cheese and you certainly don’t send his boss all those emails in which he called her names that involve special characters. Please don’t fool yourselves, either; the minor offenses are just as bad. You don’t drive by his house and you don’t call his office. You don’t linger at that coffee shop he frequents. Negative attention really isn’t the attention you want from someone who is supposed to respect you.

You don’t involve his family or friends. Respect his boundaries. If he isn’t talking to you, it isn’t fair for you to manipulate others so he sees you, hears you. I understand the urge, but like running naked onto the White House lawn, you just don’t do it.

Bottom line: every time you feel like doing something – and of course you’ll FEEL it a lot – ask  if you’re respecting yourself by doing whatever it is that you’re contemplating (while laughing maniacally and/or picturing him maimed). Not honoring your whim, but respecting the person you are or want to be.  Are you that girl? And if you are, is that who you really want to be?

What You Do

You’re perfectly entitled to wallow for a bit, whatever form that takes. Watch girlie movies. Call friends. And tell people – for goodness sake, tell people. There is no shame in being uncoupled. It happens to all of us, and the more you hide it, the worse your pain becomes. Honor yourself by being honest. Things may be over, but you are intact, worthy just because you exist, no matter how much you might not feel it now.

Allow yourself to feel the pain. It’s awful to have your heart broken. When you feel like crying, do it, whenever you can.  Pushing those feelings down only makes them pop up later, with more strength, and quite possibly jazz hands and air horns.

I’m not a fan of people recommending that you go do the things that you “get” to do now that you’re single. As far as I’m concerned, that’s a recipe for making you feel even more single. I am a fan, however, of building yourself back up, of filling you. You’re missing connection. Part of healing can come in the form of connecting with other people, but most of it comes in rebuilding a connection to yourself. It comes in doing what makes you happy, what reminds you how beautiful life is, whether you’re single or coupled.

In 2006, I went through a hard breakup. I really felt as if I had nothing, a reed in the wind if you will, completely vulnerable to an overcast day or a sappy song on the radio. I didn’t like to be alone for any amount of time, and had to learn to be connected to myself again. What did that involve? For me, it was testing boundaries and pushing myself. I met more bloggers in person. At the age of 33, I took swimming lessons. I joined a softball team, a sport I considered having contributed to my social phobia as a youth. And I cried when I needed to, sometimes with the car pulled over on the side of the road. I built myself back up by doing. And interestingly enough, so did he. We both did more great things independent of one another than we did while we were together. Interesting in hindsight, isn’t it?

No matter who you are, there are days when you’ll feel weaker than others. You’ll think you’ve conquered the damn thing and then suddenly you feel as if you’re sliding down the hill, trying to dig fingernails into dirt or the nearest pedestrian before you reach the bottom again. It’s all a part of the process. Feel it and know that you’ll feel even a little bit better tomorrow or next week. And that after a few of those episodes you’ll recover faster. And you keep moving forward.

And then whether a few months or a few years later, you pass him on the street and notice he’s grown a beard. And because there is  enough space between the two or you, and because you’re no longer a reed in the wind, you text him and joke him about it. And he jokes you back. And you close the brief conversation with a smile on your face, feeding the cats and contemplating whether you’ll make chili or a frozen block of Lean Cuisine for dinner. And you jump on chat to tell a friend a joke you heard during the day. Because life goes on, and isn’t that part of the beauty of it?