Lessons from Somewhere: July 2014

I experienced my first heartbreak when I was 16. My boyfriend — whom I loved very much at the time — broke up with me, right before he graduated from high school. I was devastated. Like many teenagers, I didn’t really know how to process my emotions. I remember crying a lot, and feeling very confused. I spent the whole of that summer trying to uncover what I had done wrong. I replayed conversations in my head, seeking answers, but finding none. It was the most pain I’d felt in my life, and it was hard to recover.

Years later — I just turned 29 — I’ve learned that heartache comes in numerous forms, and that it’s never easy. It’s not something you willingly welcome; pain becomes an ever-present nag, longing for your undivided attention. We have all experienced hurt. We have all struggled. We all identify with pain. It’s a commonality, something we can each relate to, uniting us (perhaps that’s the silver lining…).

Talking about hardship is uncomfortable. I’ve never met anyone who enjoys parsing it out, or even admitting that they’re struggling. The truth is that sorrow should be uncomfortable. It should make you angry, sad, frustrated and disappointed. You can never change what’s been said; you can never change the actions that set off the hurt. But you can throw down the welcome mat and accept that it’s real, that it’s happening.

During a recent Netflix binge, I heard a character say that in life, we experience far more bad moments than good ones, so we’d better treasure the finer times. I don’t think that’s necessarily true. It’s much easier to identify pain than happiness or contentment. Hurt is experienced in numerous ways: depression, anxiety, deceit and through words. It can become so all consuming that, sometimes, we forget that joy is even possible; misery outshines the good.

This month, I learned that owning my sadness, anxiety and struggles didn’t make them go away. If didn’t make them any less painful, but it was indicative of my character.

I let the discomfort be felt. I tried (though I wasn’t always successful) not to run from it, or numb the pain with food, cocktails or by working out. Instead, I sat with it and listened. I learned from the hurt and let it prove its worth, its impact on the rest of my life.

I am fighting. I am trying. I am enduring simply by taking one step at a time.

—Jaime

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