Balanced harmony

The pain still lingers on. Not like it used to, when a sourceless physical ache filled my chest. A weird duality of a high pressure that was about to explode and a strong vacuum that was going to collapse. Both stemmed from the same sensation that has faded already, but the void still remains.

At first, I thought I could harness this pain. For example, withdrawing myself from doing activities I love, hoping I could trick my brain to have an urge to do them again. Like an extra source of motivation to practice piano or cook delicious dishes. Even distancing myself from London was an attempt to associate my misery with not being there. To regain my fondness of the city by reminiscing about all the things I miss. Another experiment was to turn it into fuel for creating new things. Like the blog. Working on it did help to distract myself, but the fuel I used was not the pain. I tapped into the love that I had nowhere else to channel. Now it’s clear that these experiments were just my knee-jerk reaction to avoid the pain instead of dealing with it. The exact same behaviour that led me here.

Feeling miserable over losing someone is completely understandable, so allow yourself to feel it.

A friend of mine told me this. It did resonate with me deeply, even though I didn’t understand what it meant. But that’s the beauty of it, how we process pain is individual. There is no recipe. I can try what others do, but there is no guarantee it’s going to work for me. And I need to remember that, because when it doesn’t, I should not get sad about being sad.

Since I don’t believe that the blame game benefits me in any way, I didn’t want to start contemplating what my ex could have done differently. Instead, I started journaling about my past actions in the relationship that I now consider as mistakes. It reveals what I value now and who I’d like to be. Furthermore, it gives me a clear guidance of what behaviours I need to change to get there.

This process was quite strange in the beginning. Like Schrödinger’s cat, I got into two seemingly mutually exclusive states where I am the most and least myself at the same time. I’m the most myself because I finally accept who I am with all my flaws. And I’m the least myself because suddenly the person I thought I was has vanished. It’s a confusing sensation, but the journey of becoming has begun.

The self-reflection alleviated most of the pain. Finally, my sleep quality started to improve. I got less anxious, calmer, and more patient with others. Yet something still didn’t feel right. I felt stuck, like the remainder of my misery is not going to be solved by reflecting purely on myself. Then I remembered: I’m terrible at finding the balance. Something that I always strived to achieve but never could. This time it was no different. I only inspected my side of the story to avoid putting blame on someone that can’t defend herself. But I can’t take all the responsibility for the breakup. It’s never really a single person’s fault.

Some of my friends recommended writing down everything she has done that still hurts today in the form of a letter to her. Of course, not to send it, just for the drawer or burn it, or do whatever. The idea is to release everything that I kept in, that left unsaid and still bothered me. So I dived into writing many pages until I realised that it’s not even about what I expected her to do differently. It’s about understanding how her actions and behaviours made me feel. Basically, another point of view for my self-exploration. Discovering my triggers and responses to them.

Even though the letter eventually was just another kind of reflection, somehow the balance seems to be restored. I’m at peace in harmony.

Sunday, 11 May 2025