Broken Heart Syndrome
You know the problem with swallowing pain? Eventually, you have to digest it.
I was never an outdoorsy person, but when my marriage fell apart, I did this thing that was part Bella Swan part Forrest Gump. One day, I found myself out in the woods, stumbling around looking for who knows what. If I have to be honest, in the back of my mind I hoped one day he might find me out there. He’d walk up to me beneath the canopy of trees and say, “I love you. Let’s work this out.”
Yellow leaves would come raining down, he’d kiss me, and all would be well.
So one day I started walking in a forest, hoping my prince would come. But then, the whole process kind of felt good. The fresh air, the adorable baby deer. Months and months of walking and walking and talking to the animals like some neurodivergent Snow White. I lost 70 pounds. Got some pink in my cheeks. I learned that I love the outdoors.
But I also forgot I loved being with people.
And that was the Bella Swan of it all.
The first six months of my divorce were like flipping through blank book pages.
July.
August.
September.
October.
November.
December.
I have pictures in my phone that show I existed, but the light in my heart was out. In fact, I think I remember the moment it died. That feeling was very acute. My first taste of grief, I would learn to say. It came on with a bout of heart sickness.
Did you know that you can have nausea in your chest? That’s what it’s like to lose someone you love. Turns out people actually die from that shit. And because my body is nothing if not dramatic, it decided to do the same thing.
Broken heart syndrome.
That’s what it’s called when they find out you’re going through divorce. Otherwise they just call it stress induced myocarditis.
That’s what was on the hospital paper, anyways.
Broken hearted, broken brained, crying in the woods. But everyone thought I was doing great because my waist line was getting smaller. So I leaned hard into that narrative, baby. I’m telling you, I went all in. I started hiking 15 miles a day, eating nothing but tuna and Gatorade Zero. I got smaller and smaller and the compliments rolled in, and suddenly…a light came on.
Not the light in the center of my chest. This one was a few flights up.
There is nothing my trauma wrecked brain loves more than building a happy delusion.
Like a little Lego worker, I got straight to the business of crafting a new reality.
In this delusional paradise, I was kicking divorce in the ass..
Hanging with friends, losing weight, co parenting like a champion.
I wasn’t surviving, I was thriving, baby.
(never mind the whole eating disorder thing)
Yes, yes, I smiled at my Legos. This delusional will suit me just fine.
You know the problem with swallowing pain?
Eventually, you have to digest it.
I know, I know. This too shall pass.
But right now, it’s passing like a kidney stone.
You can acknowledge what you’re doing well while you grieve. You can be real about unhealthy patterns you need to change without giving up your new loved hiking. It’s not all or nothing. It’s not live outside of reality or beet yourself up. Feel the hard stuff and then it’s okay to recover from that. For me it’s hiding in a book or watching something ridiculous that makes me laugh. Take care of yourself.
Yes. After my husband died suddenly, I lost 40 pounds in two months. My mother-in-law thought it was wonderful. That was pretty much the end of that relationship. And I remember the physical pain of it-- in my heart, in my stomach, clawing at my throat. Until people go through a grievous loss, they don't (can't) understand the physicality of it. The good news, though, is that it gets better. Progress tends to be nearly invisible and sloooooooow, not to mention unsteady, but time is working on it. In the meantime, you don't need to kick the ass of anything. Just grieve, as miserable as that is. Many of us are here with you, cheering you on, holding you, with love, from a distance.