Alright, let’s dive into this, something I’ve lived through and seen others wrestle with: how long does it actually take to get over a breakup? There’s no magic number, and if anyone tells you there is, well, they probably haven’t been through a real gut-wrencher.
My Own Walk Through the Wringer
I remember this one particular split. It wasn’t my first, but man, it felt like the world ended. I was a mess. For weeks, I just went through the motions. Getting out of bed was a win. Eating? Sometimes. Focusing on work? Forget about it. I kept replaying everything, wondering what I did wrong, what I could have changed. It was like being stuck in a loop of bad memories and “what ifs.”
The first thing I realized was that I had to let myself actually feel the suck. Seriously. I tried to be “strong” at first, you know, put on a brave face. But that just bottled it up. So, I let myself be sad. I cried. I journaled a lot of angry, confused stuff. It wasn’t pretty, but it was necessary.
The Nitty-Gritty of My Process
So, what did I actually do? It wasn’t a straight line, more like a messy scribble.
- Cutting the Cord (Sort Of): This was tough. The urge to check their social media, to “accidentally” text, it was strong. I had to actively stop myself. Mute, block, whatever it took. Out of sight, eventually, helps get them out of mind, or at least less prominent. For me, this was crucial. Every time I saw something, it was like picking at a scab.
- Filling the Void: Suddenly, there was all this… time. And space. Weekends felt empty. I started forcing myself to do things. Reconnected with old friends I’d let slide. Picked up a dusty hobby – for me, it was trying to learn guitar again. Awkward at first, but it gave my brain something else to chew on.
- Talking it Out (But Not Too Much): I leaned on a couple of close friends. The ones who would listen without judgment, but also tell me when I was just wallowing too much. There’s a fine line between processing and just endlessly complaining.
- Small Wins: I started celebrating tiny victories. A day without crying? Win. Cooked a decent meal for myself? Win. Went for a walk and actually noticed the trees? Big win. Sounds silly, but it helped shift my focus from what I’d lost to what I could still do.
The “How Long” Question – My Reality
Okay, so the big question: how long? For that particular breakup, the intense, can’t-breathe pain probably lasted a solid few months. Like, three to four months of it being the main thing on my mind. After that, it started to fade, but not disappear. There were still pangs, especially on anniversaries or when a specific song came on.
I’d say it took a good six to eight months before I felt like “myself” again, or rather, a new version of myself. And even then, maybe a full year before I could think about the person without a significant emotional jolt, more like a distant memory with a tinge of sadness but not acute pain.
But here’s the thing I learned the hard way: it’s not a timer. There’s no “ding!” moment when you’re suddenly “over it.” It’s more like the tide going out. It recedes, sometimes a wave comes back in unexpectedly, but overall, the water level drops.
I’ve seen friends bounce back in a couple of months from what seemed like a serious thing. I’ve seen others take years to truly move on from something that, from the outside, didn’t look as intense. Everyone’s different. The length of the relationship, how intertwined your lives were, who ended it, why it ended – all these things play a massive role.
So, yeah, there’s no easy answer. It takes as long as it takes. The main thing I practiced was being patient with myself and focusing on rebuilding my own world. And eventually, you do. You really do.
