This is simply what I do.
Let's recall a breakup that stayed with me. We had an argument, and I needed to pick up a few things from his house. Nothing dramatic. Just things I needed for uni. But because we had a little disagreement, he wouldn’t let me come over. He insisted someone else could collect them.
And in that moment, something clicked.
There was a pattern I’d ignored for too long, the way disagreements turned into battles. As if we were enemies instead of two people who cared about each other but disagreed. I’ve always believed that you can be upset with someone and still treat them with basic humanity. You can disagree and still sit in the same room. Still eat from the same plate. Still talk. Still tease.
Conflict shouldn’t erase respect.
So I ended it. Not because I didn’t love him, I did. Deeply. I had imagined a future. We’d passed the three-month mark. The twelve-month mark. The point where you start thinking, Okay… this could be something. And like many of us do, I told myself the red flags would soften. That he was listening. That things would improve.
But eventually, I realised something important: he wasn’t changing, I was. I was shrinking. Adjusting. Losing pieces of myself to keep the peace.
And that isn’t love.
Step One: Mourn It
The first few days are always blurry for me. I cry. Proper mourning. I don’t try to be strong. I don’t rush myself. I let it hurt.
And if you’re not someone who cries, that’s okay. Sit in the sadness. Don’t run from it. Because if you avoid it now, it will find you later, on day 50, or five months from now, when you think you’ve healed.
Let the grief exist.
Step Two: Return to What Grounds You
Once the fog lifts a little, I surround myself with what I genuinely love. For me, that’s God.
I know faith looks different for everyone, but no version of my healing doesn’t include Him. Sometimes I don’t even pray. I just listen. Worship music. Sermons. Quiet moments where I’m not asking questions, just showing up. Daily, consistently.
And every time, without fail, a word comes. A sentence. A truth. A light.
That’s where healing starts to feel possible.
Step Three: Understand What Happened
This is where reflection comes in.
I step outside the relationship and look at it honestly, their patterns, my patterns, what worked, what didn’t. I ask myself hard questions:
What did this relationship cost me?
What would staying require of me?
What would repair actually look like?
And once I understand the answers, the anger fades. I see their limits. Their capacity. What they could give, and what they never would.
Clarity replaces confusion.
Step Four: Forgive
I forgive them not because what happened was okay, but because holding onto bitterness only keeps me tied to the pain.
And I forgive myself. For staying. For hoping. For loving the way I did.
Forgiveness isn’t weakness. It’s release.
Step Five: Make Space for What’s Next
The sadness doesn’t vanish overnight. Sometimes a memory surfaces, a small, sweet moment, and the tears come again. But now, they don’t undo me.
Because I understand what happened. I understand my choice. And I trust it.
That understanding is what allows me to love again
Without carrying old wounds into new connections.
Without trauma-dumping.
Without punishing someone new for someone else’s limitations.
In Summary
Mourn it. Don’t rush grief.
Return to what brings you real joy.
Understand the story fully.
Forgive yourself and them.
And when you’re ready, open your heart again.
Don’t mourn forever.
Your person is waiting for you.
This post is part of my Finding Love in 2026 series, and if you’re here, healing, reflecting, choosing better… you’re already closer than you think.
If you enjoyed this post, check How to Find Love in 2026
With Love,
Ayo ❤️
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