Losing hope is worse than losing love.

“Heartbreak is more than just a particularly hard form of disappointment or failure. It hurts in an entirely different way because heartbreak is always connected to love and belonging.” Brene Brown, Rising Strong

I’ve suffered 3 major heartbreaks in my life.

Heartbreak #1 was when I realised my first husband didn’t actually like me. We are both good people and genuinely believed in our marriage. We created a beautiful child together, and never disagreed on how we wanted to raise her. But one night, after another long discussion about finances, he sighed, rolled his eyes and told me that it wasn’t his job to fund my life choices. By life choices, I mean that we were talking specifically about having another child, and how we would manage costs if I took extended maternity leave. This wasn’t the first conversation of this kind; the one thing we did disconnect on was money. He made no secret of the fact that he felt I was wildly irresponsible and treated me like a child around any joint financial decisions (and judged what I did with my own money).

But, that night on our couch, there was something about the way he spoke that revealed a glimpse of what he really felt about me — utter disdain. I called him on it and of course he back-pedalled, but it was too late. I could tell. He was exhausted by me. The man I thought would forever be my partner in life found me incredibly frustration, draining and dumb. The penny dropped and so did my heart, right there on the lounge room floor. I never picked it back up.

Heartbreak #2 was when my second marriage broke down. The man I married as my second chance in love ended up being one of the most emotionally destructive forces I’ve ever encountered in life. He certainly behaved in heartbreaking ways over and over again during our marriage, but the great heartbreak came when I asked him to choose his family — me + our 2 year old and 3 week old daughters — over his latest office crush. I didn’t even ask him to choose us forever, just for 3 months, while we settled into bringing a new baby into our family and sought some therapy. He said no. And in that moment, my heart splintered into a million pieces. Not really even for me, I was somewhat numb to his turning away from me, but for his daughters. They had nothing but unconditional love for him, and he walked right out the door, as far away from them as possible.

Heartbreak #3 was after a 3 month fling with a man who promised the world and who I chose to believe was my person. I felt much smarter in love by this stage, 2 years deep in the dating scene. I had done a tonne of self-reflection, was a little more savvy and able to spot red flags a mile away. I was mostly making pretty good choices when it came to men, and holding firm with my boundaries. So when I was essentially ghosted after what I thought was a blissful weekend away with this man, I felt a familiar kick in the chest. There was emotional and physical pain. I cried myself to sleep, screamed into pillows and went into social hibernation. I was with this man for 3 months and it took me at least 6 months to recover from the heartbreak.

The thing about heartbreak is that the force with which it knocks us off our feet is often equated with the type and length of relationship. It’s easy for people to see how you might be suffering after being unceremoniously dumped by your husband of 25 years; less so when the guy you met on Tinder stops returning your calls after the 4th date. These are two extremes but, as a society, the metrics of time and type of relationship are often used to judge the ‘normal’ grade of heartbreak.

But, based on my very real lived experience, this now seems wild to me. Time + commitment + cause of breakup doesn’t predict how hard the loss of that love might be. For me, it’s about hope.

Hope for a lifetime of memories.

Hope for a second chance. Hope that the strength of my family would weather any storm life could throw at us.

Hope for a love that I truly deserve. Hope to give love in a way that I’ve never felt free enough to give.

Maybe I’m just a sucker for punishment, but honestly? Hope is the best and worst thing you can give me in love. It’s the best because it’s what opens up my heart and helps me lean in to vulnerability, and we all know that this is where the most authenticate connections grow. It’s the worst because if that hope is dashed, it feels like a full body crush due to the aforementioned vulnerability and connection. Sure, some time is required to find this hope, but there isn’t a set timeline. This can happen within a few days, or take months to build. The pain I’ve experienced through all 3 heartbreaks was similar on scale, but the scenarios were all really different.

Of course, things like attachment theory, emotional resilience and the role of dopamine in intimate relationships all play an important part. The way in which we intertwine ourselves with others determines the complexity of the disentanglement. But, for me, when it comes down to it, it’s always the loss of hope that stings just as much as the loss of love.

So the question is — after all this heartbreak, do I still feel safe to feel hope?

No, not at all.

Will this stop me from letting myself feel hopeful?

Absolutely not.

I genuinely believe that human connection is what makes the world go ‘round. The only way to genuinely connect is to open your heart. The only way to open your heart is to trust. And through the unknowns of love, the only way to trust is to have faith. A strong sense of hope. The difference for me these days, though, is I no longer attach hope to an outcome or a person. Instead, I put my faith in the experience of life to give me whatever I need at that particular moment in time. I have hope that the universe has may back, even if this ends in heartbreak. I understand that the hardships we face and how we find our way through them are just as important as the things that make us burst with joy.

Love is a crazy ride. And even through all the heartbreak, my seatbelt is buckled tight and my hopes are high. Let’s go.