To the Me Who Didn’t Know How to Be Alone Again
Dear Healing Me,
The first morning without her feels unreal. The bed is the same. The room is the same. But everything feels wrong.
You wake up, reach for your phone out of habit, fingers hovering over her name. What would you even say? Come back? We can fix this? But you both know it’s not that simple.
So instead, you pull the blanket over your head and try to go back to sleep, because at least in sleep, you don’t have to remember.
But even that doesn’t last.
The days stretch long and empty. Coffee doesn’t taste the same. The city looks different without her voice pointing out things you never noticed before. Absence doesn’t just mean she’s gone. It means every version of her in your life disappears, too.
And you grieve. Not just for her, but for the life you thought you were going to have. For the inside jokes that don’t make sense to anyone else. For the version of you that only existed when she was around.
But listen to me.
There will come a morning when waking up doesn’t feel like a fight. A day when you’ll drink coffee and actually taste it again. A moment when you’ll hear your song and, instead of feeling like you’ve been punched in the stomach, you’ll find yourself smiling, just a little, because it was good while it lasted.
You won’t rush to that day. You won’t force it. But it will come, I promise.
And when it does, you’ll realize—you never lost yourself. You were just waiting to find her again.
With quiet strength,
Jules
Dear Healing Me,
The first time you see her again, it catches you off guard.
You’re walking down a familiar street, minding your own business, when suddenly, there she is, existing in the same space as you, after all this time.
Your heart betrays you, speeding up before your brain can remind it to stay still. For a second, you wonder if she’s been looking for you, too.
She notices you first. She smiles. Not quite like she used to, but not like a stranger either. Just… different. Softer.
And that’s when you realize, you’re different now, too.
You’re no longer the person who would have searched her face for answers. No longer the one who would have run to her without thinking. You’ve learned that some things don’t need answers, just time.
So you smile back, steady this time, and say, Hey, it’s been a while.
And it is enough.
Because sometimes, closure isn’t a dramatic conversation. Sometimes, it’s just two people standing on the same street again, still them, but not quite the same.
With quiet understanding,
Jules
Dear Healing Me,
Healing is not a straight road.
At first, it will feel like you’re making progress. You’ll go about your day and realize, for a few hours, you didn’t think about her. You’ll laugh at something ridiculous. You’ll make plans with friends and actually follow through. You’ll think, I’m okay. I made it through.
But healing is tricky. Some days, you’ll wake up feeling like you’ve taken ten steps back. You’ll reach for her favorite coffee blend at the store before catching yourself. A song will start playing, and your chest will tighten. A friend will mention her name, and your heart will stutter—not as painfully as before, but enough for you to notice.
It won’t always be the big things that undo you. Sometimes, it’s the quiet moments. The way your apartment feels too big. The way your hand hesitates over your phone, muscle memory tempting you to text her. The way the afternoon light slants through your window the same way it did when she napped on your couch.
You’ll get frustrated with yourself, wondering why you can’t just move on the way people say you should.
But listen to me. Healing is not forgetting.
It’s not about erasing the past or pretending it didn’t matter. It’s about learning to carry it differently.
One day, you’ll find yourself saying yes to things you used to overthink. A last-minute trip, a spontaneous night out. You’ll be sitting in a bar with new friends, laughing at something stupid, and realize, you didn’t hesitate. You didn’t check your phone, didn’t hold back.
And maybe, just maybe, that means you’re moving forward.
With patience,
Jules
Dear Healing Me,
One day, you’ll wake up and realize you didn’t dream about her. It won’t feel like a victory at first, just an absence. But then you’ll notice other things, too. Like how your mornings aren’t weighed down by the thought of her, how your laughter isn’t followed by guilt, how you can listen to your favorite songs without them feeling like landmines.
Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting. It means accepting that she was part of your story, but not the whole of it.
You’ll start filling the spaces she left behind. The extra time in your day, the empty seat beside you, the silence where conversations used to be—these will feel like gaps at first. But one by one, you’ll fill them. A book you’ve been meaning to read. A hobby you forgot you loved. A night out where you don’t check the time, don’t plan every detail.
And maybe one day, you’ll talk about her without the ache. Not because she didn’t matter, but because she did. And you’ll understand that moving on isn’t about forgetting. It’s about making peace with remembering.
With quiet strength,
Jules
Dear Healing Me,
You’ve made it.
Not in a grand, triumphant way—there’s no sudden moment where everything falls into place. It doesn’t work like that. But one day, you’ll wake up and realize the ache isn’t the first thing you feel. You’ll step outside, and the air will taste different, not heavy, not suffocating. Just… there.
You’ll still think of her. You always will. Not in the way that paralyzes you, not in the way that keeps you stuck in the past. But in the way you think of every beautiful thing that once mattered. Like an old song that randomly plays on the radio, a scent that brings back a moment you thought you’d forgotten. She’ll be a part of you, woven into the years you spent together, but she won’t be your whole story.
There will be new people. New laughter that doesn’t sound like echoes of what was lost. And most importantly, there will be you—learning, becoming, breathing on your own.
You’ll realize that love was never just about holding on. Sometimes, love is knowing when to let go.
And when you see her again, because you will and you won’t be afraid. You won’t feel the need to prove anything or pretend you’re unaffected. You’ll just smile, because you’ll both know.
You loved each other. You lost each other. And you both found your way, just the same.
With certainty and peace,
Jules