There is one emotion I still struggle with.
Not anger.
Not sadness.
Not fear or frustration.
Heartbreak.
Every other emotion gives me space. Heartbreak doesn't. It arrives too fast, too full, and too overwhelming—especially when it comes from love. Romantic love. The kind I was searching for, hoping for, believing in.
When I Lost Her
Losing The Sister didn't just hurt—it destabilized me.
I wasn't just grieving the loss of a person. I was grieving what she represented: safety, hope, connection, and the belief that something good had finally found me. When that began to slip away, my reaction wasn't thoughtful or measured.
It was immediate. Emotional. Inappropriate.
I reacted from pain instead of clarity. From fear instead of restraint. I said things I wish I hadn't. I responded as if heartbreak were a threat to my survival—because emotionally, that's exactly how it felt.
Why Heartbreak Hits Me Differently
Heartbreak doesn't feel like sadness to me. It feels like loss of ground.
When love is involved, especially love I've invested hope into, my nervous system reacts as if something essential is being taken away. Not just affection—but belonging. Direction. Future.
That's why restraint fails here when it holds everywhere else.
Heartbreak bypasses my patience.
It outruns my self-control.
It triggers the part of me that believes survival depends on being chosen.
Reaction as a Defense
When I reacted after losing her, it wasn't because I wanted to cause harm, it was because I wanted the pain to stop.
Reaction felt like regaining control. Like protecting what little dignity I thought I had left. But control gained through reaction is temporary—and the damage it causes lasts longer than the relief it brings.
Looking back, I see it clearly now.
I wasn't responding to who she was in that moment.
I was responding to what the loss meant about me.
Taking Note, Not Hiding
This chapter isn't written to excuse my behavior. It's written to understand it.
Heartbreak exposes where my healing is still unfinished. It shows me where love and worth are still too closely tied. Where rejection feels like erasure. Where fear speaks louder than wisdom.
Naming this doesn't undo the past—but it does prevent me from repeating it blindly.
Learning to Stay With the Pain
I'm learning that sitting with heartbreak doesn't mean denying it or minimizing its weight. It means allowing it to exist without letting it decide my actions.
That work is slow. Its uncomfortable. And I'm not done.
But becoming someone safer—to love and to be—is worth staying with this pain long enough to understand it.
Heartbreak still comes fast.
But now, at least, I know why.
"Above all else, guard your heart, for everything you do flows from it." — Proverbs 4:23