There is a certain safety that comes after heartbreak. A rhythm forms. Life settles. You learn how to carry yourself through the world without needing too much from anyone. Your days become manageable, predictable, peaceful enough. And after enough disappointment, enough shattered expectations, enough rebuilding, there’s a quiet voice that begins to whisper:
There is something instinctively heartbreaking about something that breaks. A dish shatters. A relationship cracks. A plan falls apart. Our first reaction is almost automatic: It’s over. It’s ruined. It can’t be what it once was. And with that comes a wave of emotion, disappointment, grief, sometimes even shame. We mourn not just what was lost, but what we believed it was supposed to be. But what if breaking is not the end of the story?
For many years of my life, probably from my early teens until my late thirties, my emotional world often felt like a roller coaster. My inner state depended almost entirely on what was happening around me. A phone call could lift me up or send me crashing down. An interaction with someone, a financial situation, a conversation with my spouse, an unexpected challenge, all of these external events determined how I felt that day.
We all love a plan. We map out our days, our years, even our lives with a sense of direction and purpose. And yet, so often, life takes us on a detour. Sometimes it’s small and inconvenient — a delay, a change of schedule, a closed door. Other times, it’s life-altering: a challenge we never asked for, a loss we never imagined, a path we never thought we’d walk.
