April 09, 2025
By [LOVED & FOUND]
I’m here with you. Take a deep breath. I feel your pain—it’s raw, it’s heavy, and it’s so very real. You don’t have to hold it in or piece it all together right now. If you’ve ever loved someone so deeply it left you shattered, this is for you. This isn’t just a story—it’s a mirror. Maybe you’ll see yourself in it. Maybe you’ll find a sliver of peace. Because when love hurts more than it heals, the wound cuts deep, but it doesn’t have to define you.
Let’s sit with this together.
The Silent Screams of a Broken Heart
Some days, the pain is so loud I can’t tell where it ends and I begin. It’s a storm inside me—questions swirling like debris, sharp and unrelenting:
- Did I really love him, or was it just the idea of who he could’ve been?
- Was I too much? Too needy? Too loud?
- Or was I never enough—never shiny enough, never quiet enough?
- Why does he still want me close, only to leave me feeling invisible?
I’ve hit a wall. No light ahead, no signs pointing the way—just a suffocating silence and an ache that echoes in my bones. I replay every moment, every word, searching for the misstep. What did I do wrong? I poured out my heart. I bent until I nearly broke, softened every edge, hushed my own needs just to keep us afloat. But love shouldn’t feel like this—like a weight pressing me into the ground, like a shadow erasing my worth.
Maybe you know this feeling too. The sting of giving everything and getting crumbs in return. The exhaustion of loving someone who doesn’t see you. If you’re here, nodding through tears, I’m with you. You’re not alone in this.
The Words That Broke Me Open
He said it so casually, like it was nothing: “Maybe you’re doing this for someone else.”
Those words landed like a sledgehammer. As if my pain isn’t mine. As if my boundaries, my choices, my voice don’t belong to me. As if walking away from something that hurts me isn’t my right. It cracked something wide open—a realization I’d been dodging for too long.
Why do people claim to love you, then treat you like you’re disposable? Why tether you to their life with no care, no effort, no respect? I’ve asked these questions until my throat burned, and still, the answers don’t come. Maybe they never will. But what I do know is this: love shouldn’t make you feel small. It shouldn’t leave you begging for peace.
The Weight of Self-Doubt
Right now, I don’t feel strong. I don’t feel certain. I’m questioning everything—was it all in my head? Did I invent the warmth, the connection, the whispered promises? Was I a fool to believe in something that only existed in my longing?
Self-doubt is a cruel companion. It creeps in, whispering that you’re the problem—that if you’d been better, quieter, prettier, he’d have stayed. That you’re broken beyond repair. I’ve spent nights tangled in those lies, wondering if I’m losing my mind.
But here’s the thing: pain isn’t proof of your failure. It’s not a punishment. It’s a signal—a loud, messy, honest one. It’s the truth breaking through the haze, shouting what you’ve been too scared to admit.
The Truth Love Taught Me
Through the tears and the wreckage, I’m starting to see it:
- Love shouldn’t cost you your self-respect. You don’t have to trade your dignity for affection.
- Being “good” doesn’t mean swallowing harm. Kindness isn’t a free pass for others to wound you.
- Peace isn’t something you beg for—it’s something you deserve.
I don’t have all the answers yet. I’m still grieving—the version of me who stayed too long, the dream I clung to until my hands bled. But I’m learning that letting go isn’t giving up. It’s loving myself enough to walk away from what’s breaking me. And that? That’s sacred.
The Slow Rise From the Ashes
This isn’t the end of me. It’s the end of what was tearing me apart. There’s a quiet power in that—a spark flickering beneath the rubble. I’m not healed, not whole, not yet. But I’m waking up. And if you’re reading this, feeling the same ache, you’re waking up too.
You’re not bad. You’re not broken beyond repair. You’re human, and you’re brave for feeling it all. For sitting in the mess instead of running from it. For daring to ask, “What do I deserve?”—and starting to believe the answer might be more.
How to Heal When Love Leaves Scars
If you’re here, wondering how to move forward, I don’t have a perfect roadmap. But I can share what’s helping me, step by shaky step. Maybe it’ll help you too:
- Feel It All (Yes, Even the Ugly Parts): Don’t shove the pain down. Cry. Scream. Write it out. Let it breathe so it doesn’t fester.
- Stop Blaming Yourself: His actions aren’t your fault. You didn’t make him hurt you—you just loved him through it.
- Set Boundaries Like They’re Oxygen: Protect your heart. Say no. Walk away. It’s not selfish—it’s survival.
- Find Your People: The ones who see you, who hold space for your hurt without judgment. They’re your lifeline.
- Reclaim One Piece at a Time: A hobby, a song, a quiet morning with coffee—small anchors to remind you who you are.
Healing isn’t linear. Some days, you’ll feel strong; others, you’ll crumble. That’s okay. You’re not racing to a finish line—you’re learning to live again.
Why This Matters (To You and Me)
This isn’t just my story—it’s ours. If you’ve ever felt discarded by someone you loved, if you’ve ever wondered if you’re worth more, this is your permission slip. You are worth more. You don’t have to stay in a place that dims your light. You don’t have to prove your value to someone who refuses to see it.
I’m writing this for me, yes—but also for you. Because we deserve to heal. We deserve to feel seen. And maybe, just maybe, by sharing this raw, unpolished truth, we’ll both find a little more strength to keep going.
A Quiet Invitation
If this resonates, I’d love to hear from you. Drop a comment below—your story, your pain, your hope. Let’s hold space for each other. And if you’re feeling brave, share this with someone who needs it. Sometimes, a whisper of “I get it” is enough to pull someone back from the edge.
I’m not done hurting yet. But I’m done letting it define me. And you don’t have to either.
You’re waking up. That’s brave. 