Tag Archives: heartbreak

Hello Next Big Thing

25 Feb



There comes a point when you are getting over someone, when you are at the lowest depths of loneliness and self-pity that a sudden burst of energy comes on, a result of finally having exhausted all you have left to mourn for someone.

You might call this closure.

I am finding that in order to reach closure, I have to grieve; it’s inevitable. It’s the only route through this mess of feelings to true liberation.

It feels silly to say that: grief. No one died. Other people have been through far, far worse than getting dumped by their fiancé. It makes me feel insensitive to people who really have lost someone.

If you haven’t figured it out by now, I am not one of those people who embraces this process – I am much better at avoidance and distraction. Going through this whole transformation of self-awareness to become a more ideal woman has effectively helped me avoid grief. The idea of “grieving” a man I wish I hadn’t loved makes me incredibly uncomfortable. I even threw myself destructively into a two-day romance I wasn’t ready for in the hopes of moving on. Besides, superheroes don’t cry. They suck it up and forget about it.

But then I got that coat in the mail. Without warning, the physical presence of that damn coat brought me face-to-face with Mr. Poison and the feelings I buried when I left Boston. I thought I could outsmart the questions about what I did wrong, the memories of the best times we had, the mental rehashing of all our fights, and all our makeups.

Listen here: grief does not discriminate. It affects everyone, for every kind of loss. You can’t avoid it, no matter how far or fast or hard you run.

Having realized this, when I got home the other night after giving that coat away, I let myself cry hard and long, to deeply feel the pain of the loss.

I’ve never cried like that before, but maybe that’s what’s been missing in my ability to move on from things. It forced me into emotionally dark spaces I wished I didn’t have to visit, but the end result is true catharsis that has given me a freedom I have never felt before.

It’s the freedom to finally say: goodbye Mr. Poison (for real this time).

Someone recently told me that when you grieve a relationship, you are really grieving the part of yourself that was inherently tied to that person. Whether you like it or not, you become someone a little bit different when you’re in a relationship, perhaps a better version of yourself, perhaps a worse version of yourself. Either way, you somehow can’t be that person around anyone else, so without his presence to influence you, that part of you dies.

And so this new grieving process also allows me to say: goodbye girl I used to be.

Hello next big life thing. I’m ready.



Living On A Whim: Part Two

19 Jan


I rolled over in a groggy haze. There was a figure in the corner, dressed only to the waist. I pulled the comforter up over my shoulders, and buried my head in the pillow. The figure spoke.

“Hey Jennifer.”

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Here’s To You, Jane

28 Dec

Marilyn Monroe triumphant.jpg

My blog has a follower. My blog has a follower! And it’s not my mom!

This girl “Jane,” a stranger from Kansas, somehow found me, even though we don’t know the same people. Jane wrote to me today – she wanted to tell me that she enjoys my blog and is looking forward to seeing me go on more adventures.

Jane also shared a little bit of her story, and it has affected me.

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Mr. Poison Returns

27 Nov


It’s the day after Thanksgiving – my first one away from family and friends in a long, long time. I spent the day making a huge, foodie feast for myself and watched Audrey Hepburn movies all day. It was fabulous.

I had just finished an invigorating run, excited for my new friend date that night and hopeful about the general possibilities ahead, when I signed into my email. Mr. Poison had written me.

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I Was Done a Long Time Ago

1 Nov


“What did you do?”

I finally talked to my mother. I’ve been here four weeks and, though I emailed her a vague story about leaving Boston, told her I’d changed my number, ignored her calls, this was the first time I told her the full story.

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Running with James Bond

26 Sep


I’ve been here a week now and reality settled in about an hour ago. It’s Saturday night, and in my empty apartment, I’m hate watching yet another James Bond marathon.

The sounds of the people around me, none of whom I know, makes me feel alone. The drunken twentysomethings on the street make me miss my friends and social life. I’m no longer part of Boston, but I am not part of Denver either.

The city lights outside my window usually comfort me with the promise of human activity, and I suppose they are better than no city lights, but knowing that there are all these people out there, just there, right outside my window, makes me feel the unbearable weight of everything that just happened. I promised myself I wouldn’t do this. James Bond never would have sat home on a Saturday night.

It’s been nine days since Jake dumped me.

Two Thursdays ago, he got home from law school as I was finishing up a work report. He was home later than usual and hadn’t responded to my texts asking where he was, if he was okay. He quietly set his bag down, took his jacket off. He looked disturbed, and seemed in a daze. He sat down on the chair across from me.

“Hey.” I tried to catch his eye.

He stared unblinking for a few moments, then looked straight at me. “I can’t do this anymore.”

“What do you mean? Law school?” My heart raced and the blood rushed to my face.

“No. I can’t do ‘us’ anymore.”

“What?” I furrowed my brows at him.

“This is too much. I’m sorry, Dee. I just can’t. I’ve been walking around all night and I just – I’ve had to change so much.” He stopped for a moment, rubbed his hands together.

“In the midst of becoming the man I really want to be, and this was the hardest three years of my life, and God, I’ve had to study more than humanly possible, I’ve had my intelligence tested, I’ve also met all these incredibly interesting people, and it’s opened my eyes to the world, and got me thinking about what I want, and I—“ He stopped and looked back up at me.

“What the fuck? Are you saying?”

Jake took a defeated breath. “I’m not in love with you anymore.”

My chest tightened. My face was hot. I felt dizzy. Tears streamed down my face, onto my neck and the blanket. My mind raced and slowed at the same time, hyper-focusing on certain words and memories. I felt immobilized. He stayed where he was.

“Leave,” I finally said into my hands.


I looked up, shooting invisible daggers at this face. “Get the fuck out.”

Jake nodded. Put his head down, hands on his knees, pushed himself up and walked to the door without looking at me. He put on his jacket with confidence.

“I’ll be at the pub if you need me.” He slammed the door behind him.

Maybe it was the pain, maybe I knew this time he meant it, maybe my heart couldn’t handle it, but something compelling came over me that I’ve never felt before. With remarkable clarity, I knew exactly what I had to do.

I ransacked our apartment, gathering everything I couldn’t live without. I pulled everything from my closet and dresser and, thinking about all the woman-on-the-run books and movies I’d consumed, I combed the apartment for paperwork and mementos. I packed my laptop and power cord, took off the ring and carefully packed it into my purse.

The furniture, dishes and most of my books stayed behind. Everything I didn’t want ended up in “donate” bags that I left in a corner of the bedroom. Then, I straightened the entire apartment. Terrified at getting caught, I worked at Super Woman speed.

Two hours later, I left my keys on the kitchen counter, lugged my suitcases downstairs, and hailed a taxi.

In the taxi, I logged into my bank account and transferred all my wedding money savings to my checking account. It was about 10 p.m. and there wouldn’t be any more flights tonight, so the taxi dropped me at an airport hotel.

From my hotel room, I texted just enough people to let them know not to worry.

“Jake dumped me. I moved out. Heading out of town. Will check in in a few days. Don’t worry.” I received several texts back but couldn’t bear to look at them. I also couldn’t help but notice that I hadn’t received any texts from Jake asking where I was, and haven’t received any from him since.

I had to leave as early as possible the next morning. I looked up the earliest flights, and Denver caught my eye. The expanse of empty land between Boston and Denver appealed to me very much.

The TV put me to sleep in my plush hotel bed, and when I woke, I was ecstatic about the idea of Denver. I felt strangely powerful. It was the exhilaration of running fast with the delusion that you are winning.

It was a flimsy feeling, because beneath it, a hole was burrowing itself where Jake used to be.

I need a distraction, a goal and a plan.

Every night is Saturday night when you are James Bond. Or, better yet, an International Woman of Mystery.