Heart Tears

I didn’t know a heart could break this many times and still keep beating. I thought heartbreak had some kind of limit—like after a certain number of cracks, it would just shatter completely, and I’d be excused from feeling anything at all. But no, it turns out the heart is a relentless little thing. It keeps opening, stretching, tearing—what I’ve started calling heart tears.

It happens in waves. Just when I think I’ve patched myself up enough to stand, something else knocks me back down. Another memory, another conversation, another reminder of all the things I miss. And I miss so much. I miss everything I was last summer—before heartbreak, before the accident, before my world turned into something unrecognizable. I miss that girl. She had so much light in her eyes. So much hope. She wasn’t walking around with her hands pressed to her chest, trying to keep her heart from spilling out.

But here’s the thing about heart tears—they mean I know how to love. They mean I have cared so deeply, so completely, that my heart physically hurts from the absence of the people, the moments, the life I once had. And as painful as that is, I wouldn’t trade it for a life of never feeling anything at all.

So, I keep going. I learn. I heal. I find ways to sit in this new space without letting it consume me. And if you’re here too—navigating your own kind of heartache—here are three things that help me put one foot in front of the other.

1. I let myself feel everything. No more pretending I’m fine when I’m not. No more pushing it down or saying, “I should be over this by now.” Grief and healing don’t care about timelines. Some days, I cry in my car at red lights. Some days, I stare at old photos until I can’t breathe. And some days, I laugh so hard my stomach hurts. Feeling everything means I’m still alive, still healing, still moving forward—one messy emotion at a time.

2. I find pieces of myself in new places. I miss the person I was before, but I remind myself that she’s not gone—she’s just waiting to be found again. So I look for her in things I’ve never done before. I go on walks at sunrise, I try new foods, I drive a different route home. I let myself be surprised by life again, even if it feels foreign at first.

3. I love the people who are still here. When my heart hurts, it’s easy to focus on what’s missing, but I’m learning to turn toward what’s still present. The people who check in. The ones who make me laugh even when I don’t feel like it. The ones who remind me, in quiet, steady ways, that love still exists, even after loss.

Heartache has changed me. Some days, I resent that. Other days, I realize that maybe this breaking, this stretching, this feeling—it’s all part of the process. I’m still here. My heart is still beating. And somehow, even after everything, it still knows how to love.