This Is What It Sounds Like When You Don’t Abandon Yourself
A woman. A wave of grief. And a little girl inside crying for him.
I’m currently going through a separation. Him and I, we had an incredible bond. It was so deep, so beautiful and soul-aligned, it felt like magic.
It wasn’t a toxic relationship. He wasn’t a narcissist.
We just didn’t want exactly the same things, and couldn’t find a way to meet in the middle.
So we ended it.
On the rational level, this makes so much sense. I’m even quite proud of myself: I stayed in self-respect, I honored what I want and need and deserve throughout the process.
But on the emotional level, it’s a whole other story.
You’ve been here too. I know it — you have a heart and you’ve loved.
I know you’ve known heartbreak, you’ve felt the literal ache in your heart. And so you know this: even if the decision serves your better good, the heart doesn’t care: it misses him.
That’s because it’s not just the heart: it’s your whole being. Your body misses his arms around you. Your nervous system misses his grounding, calming love. Your inner child misses the love she got, that love she was seeking all this time.
A separation is like going to rehab. Your entire system is detoxing. And that shit is tough.
The hardest thing when detoxing is the missing. Withdrawal. It is sometimes humanly impossible not to reach for that phone to call and say, “I made a mistake, please take me back.”
The missing makes you step out of integrity and back into self-abandonment. It says, “If we could go back, this ache would end and everything would be ok.”
I’ve been guilty of this, God knows I have.
I would do good for a few days. And one day, the ache would be so big that I’d compulsively text or call, only to get heartbroken again: it never worked, they never take you back. Sometimes, even, they’ve moved on and have someone else and it takes you into another spiral into the abyss of your sadness and grief and ache.
I am facing this pattern this time around, too.
We both decided to get out of the relationship. It made sense. It still does… I think.
And yet, the missing gets too much and I reach for the phone. By now, I must have drafted 10 different messages.
But here’s the difference: I never sent them. Not to him at least— to myself, to Chat GPT, but not to him.
So what? I suddenly gained big discipline muscles?
Not really.
I just built a relationship with myself around care and trust and honoring my word to myself. Call it dedication or commitment or responsibility. And that outweighs discipline and motivation.
When motivation flinches, when discipline dwindles, my dedication to myself remains.
I’ve got this family inside me, especially the parts who are missing him, the parts who crave the love and kindness he gave me — those parts, I know them, and God do I love them. I love them fiercely and that love, that love is what gives me the courage not to send the text.
Love is powerful. I am experiencing this with myself.
They tell you to love yourself, and they show you nice dresses, or a spa day.
I found the deepest love for myself in an infinity of micro-moments with myself. Nothing fancy. Moments where I sat with myself and asked “who is the one aching right now?” and “what do you need?” and “do you trust me?”
What I’m talking about here is the art of staying with yourself when things get hard. It’s choosing to remain with your own pain instead of running to someone else to soothe it. I wasn’t taught this—most of us weren’t. Like many of you, I learned to abandon myself early. But over time, I found tools, learned how to listen inward, and practiced showing up for myself. This has changed my life so profoundly that I now pass on these tools to others so they can do the same too.
As I navigate the withdrawal and the impulse to text him, I see a little version of me inside. She lost her favorite teddy bear, and she is crying for him.
So, every time she cries, and sometimes it is 5 times a day, I come back to her, I sit next to her, and I see her. I don’t scold, I don’t tell her to shut up because I’ve got work to do, I don’t try to reason her — I see her.
“I miss him, she says between two cries
“I miss him too, honey, I reply, my eyes blurring with tears
“I just want him to hold meeee…
“I know honey. I miss his arms around us. His kind eyes. How safe we felt with him. But he’s not here, love. And we can’t go back.
“Whyyyyyyyy?
“Because you deserve the love that you need. And he loved us, so much, but sometimes love isn’t enough…”
And she calms a bit, with the remembrance, getting out of the illusion of perfection. And we just sit there together. We cry together. We miss him together.
This missing is like waves in the ocean, and I am learning to float with them. If there are tears, I let them be. If my heart aches, I let it. And I stay with the one behind the aching. I listen to her. I hold her.
That’s it. That’s self-love.
And every time I do this, my bond with myself grows. And the more it grows, the more strength I have to love myself, to honor myself, and not send the text.
We abandon ourselves because we are afraid of staying with ourselves. We are afraid of the little one’s sadness. We see the wave, but we’ve never learn to float, so we run away and into someone else to regulate us, anyone... Every time we do this, we rob ourselves of our power. The power that comes from staying with yourself, from building that relationship within. The power that comes from the love you develop for yourself. God! That love is fierce.
A woman who fiercely loves herself will never lose herself again.
And that’s the path I’m walking.
If I do text him, it will not be because I am running away from myself, but because I am walking with myself.
With love,
Issa
PS. Staying, seeing and holding a sensitive part is not easy when you’ve not learned how to do this. I am so grateful for the tools I’ve picked and use ‘till today. I am passing on this knowledge in a workshop this week. If my story resonated with you, join. It’s time to come back home to yourself, love.
More information about the workshop and registration: