My Heart Was Breaking But I Kept Smiling Because I Didn’t Want Family to Worry

How compartmentalizing work, family, and heartbreak became the norm

On that day, I cried a lot. And devoured several bars of Lindt’s milk chocolate. If I were a drinker, I’d probably say “f*ck this” and drink myself into blessed oblivion. Since that was not the case, a chocolate-infused coma was the best I could hope for.

Has anyone died from a chocolate overdose, I wonder?

In the end, who was to blame? You, me, or fate who thought it a grand joke to set our mine carts on a collision course in this giant railway concourse called life?

Sometimes, you meet someone one fine day (serendipity, you heartless b*tch), and bam! you fall hopelessly for them.

The sensation is the opposite of romantic, mind you. It feels like you are falling, collapsing into a pile, minus bones, and joints — a staggered demolition of painstakingly erected boundaries and self-control.

At the same time, it is both exhilarating and scary as f*ck.

The really weird thing is I knew what the outcome would be and still, let myself get caught up. No surprise there since each time it concerns matters of the heart, the logical side of my brain conveniently chooses to take the day off and lounges her otherwise perfectly objective self on the beach somewhere leaving the wild child to her own devices.

The things we do to feel that intense dopamine rush again and again. The ultimate euphoric high — it’s so damn addictive.

So, I guess in a way, I was an addict.

But not for the sh*t you shoot up or snort. But for something else that was just as easily destructive. But I couldn’t seem to help myself. I craved it and I needed it and I loved it.

I fell in love. Yet, again.

That time, however, the declaration of love did not inspire joyful huzzahs.

For some words can only be whispered to the wind, traced on foggy windows, chanted to the rain.

But when the wind tapered off, the fog melted away, and the storm abated, there was nothing left but the heartbreak of memories that were never made and never would be, alas. At least not in this lifetime.

Heartbreak is such a funny word, even a little dramatic come to think of it. However, it can also be overwhelming and all-consuming so much so that your body, soul, and mind are mired in the grief of loss.

It is not as if I was unaware that part of it was my doing — the tendency to repeat this pattern of seeking out emotionally unavailable partners despite knowing the inevitable pain lying in store. No surprise there for someone like me with an anxious attachment style: “People with anxious-insecure attachment styles often become preoccupied with the state of their relationship. The attention of a partner, being in a relationship, become central motivations in life. In extreme circumstances, this might feel like a life-or-death situation.”

At that time when I got my heart handed back to me, all I wanted to do is nurse my pain, wallow in it, and drown myself in its bittersweetness.

But how can you when you have a job that demands your attention and responsibilities as a daughter and caregiver that demands you to present an unruffled front even though you are falling apart on the inside?

Loved ones can sense, with uncanny intuition, when something is wrong. They ask why you are so quiet or distracted all of a sudden. Why you seem simultaneously irritated and exhausted? Could it be from a lack of sleep, they wonder.

If you unwittingly snap back at them to leave you the f*ck alone then you inadvertently hurt them.

If you answer that you are indeed not okay then be ready for the inevitable questions that will follow.

What if you are not ready to tell them what has happened? More importantly, what if you don’t want them to worry?

I would like to say I effectively compartmentalized — not a surprise because I seem to have a knack for it from when I was young. Some may say I have remarkable resiliency but then they haven’t seen the panic attacks and the marathon sob sessions that go on behind closed doors.

Sh*t happens. You deal with it. Life goes on. That had been my mantra for many years. The downside was I used to lick my wounds in private which usually meant getting stuck ruminating instead of working towards recuperating from the hurt.

Thank goodness I have since become part of a mental health support group and taken up writing. It is helping me understand some of the reasons why I tend to fall into negative behavior patterns and why I behave the way I do.

The right strategy, which I have realized over time, is I not only need to confront the issue that is causing my distress but also give myself permission to heal and reset as Dr. Patrick Cheatham explains: “Any life change can involve grief for what’s been left behind, especially the unwanted end of a relationship. Processing grief, that fuzzy term we all use, basically means acknowledging that loss, understanding it, and incorporating it into your life story.”

I continue to be a work in progress.

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