How a Broken Heart Actually Heals

It’s my 4-year wedding anniversary today, but I’m no longer married.

The past two nights, my eyes have sprung open only a few hours after they were closed.

At 1 am this morning, I startled myself into consciousness. I felt myself take a deep shuddering breath and within moments, I was wide awake, lying on my back, staring at my ceiling.

After tossing and turning, I got up and sat against my pillows, hugging my knees. I spent the next few hours doing absolutely nothing. Simply sitting in bed. Breathing. Waiting for the sky to turn pink and purple as the sun woke up and moon clocked out for the day.

This past week has been restless for me. It marks my four-year wedding anniversary to a man I no longer know. I have not spoken to him in two years.

But I still have his face memorized. I can see it clearly in my mind, every curve and angle. The long, thick eyelashes that curled at the roots. Eyelashes that framed the most beautiful eyes I had ever seen on a man. I can almost feel the timber in his laugh from the countless times I rested my cheek against his chest. The softness of his mouth as it pressed against mine. The gentleness of his hands while he held me.

I don’t remember his scent anymore.

When my marriage ended, I never thought I would find peace again. So shattered was my world, I couldn’t conceive of a life where I didn’t constantly fear, question, agonize over whether we truly were meant to be apart from each other.

I had never loved another man — he was my first kiss, and I was his. Eight years of memories, love, adventures, experiences kept us together. But a burning and inescapable need to grow and evolve tore us apart.

The end of my marriage was like experiencing the death of a loved one. I lost my best friend, my companion, my adventure buddy. My confidante, my lover, my dreams. My entire future was predicated on our relationship, and when that future fell apart before me, the world dissolved beneath my feet. It was an agony unlike anything I have every experienced (and as a survivor of childhood abuse and domestic violence, I have a robust resume of painful experiences).

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