Originally published on Quora. This one is just an extended version of the Quora answer.
If you’re here, chances are you’re carrying that ache—the one that doesn’t leave you when you smile in public, work all day, or keep yourself busy with a hundred distractions.
Let’s be honest: heartbreak feels impossible. And no, it’s not just you. Almost everyone who has ever loved deeply has felt this weight.
You might wonder: Why is it so hard? Why can’t I just get over it like people say?
Think of it this way. If a window breaks, you can buy a new one. If your clothes are dirty, you can wash or replace them. If a baby cries, eventually they can be soothed. But when the heart breaks—there is no store to buy a new one from, no quick wash cycle, no shortcut. And that is why it feels so unbearable.
Here’s something I need to tell you: there is no shortcut to healing. And I know that’s not what you want to hear. Because what you want is the one thing no one can give you right now—relief.
So you reach for distractions. Drinking, smoking, hookups, endless scrolling, keeping yourself so busy you can’t think. And maybe they work for a night, a week, even a month. But deep down you know—it’s still there, waiting.
Then you try the “healthy” distractions. Gym, journaling, self-help books, podcasts, working on yourself. And these are good—but even these cannot be the only answer. Because heartbreak is not a problem to solve. It is an experience to go through.
Healing is hard because it is a fight between two parts of you. The part of you that wants to hold on—because the love was real, the memories mattered, and you don’t want to erase them. And the part of you that knows you need to let go—because holding on is bleeding you dry.
Both are valid. Both are human. And both take time to settle into peace.
So what really works? Not magic. Not shortcuts. Just time + intention.
Time softens the pain, but intention guides it. Without time, you can’t move forward. Without intention, you get stuck. Healing happens when you let yourself grieve and slowly make choices that align with life, not with loss.
That might look like:
Allowing yourself to cry without shame. Whether in front of others or in the shower, in a pub after getting drunk or alone in your room– choose your way to cope with it and heal. Because bottling everything in is going to cost you more of your sanity.
Talking it out with people you trust, and who, you know, will support you, no matter what. Perhaps, they won’t always put up with your delusional ideas of love and they may even tell you to snap out of it. Don’t be offended with it. You may need both kinds of loves– soft and tough. But believe that you have your people. The ones you can lean onto.
Choosing not to stalk their social media (yes, that one matters). Block them, if the need be. Or keep a check on yourself– lessen the frequency of you stalking them with each week.
Rebuilding your routines. Not all easy, but definitely worth trying. Grieving takes a toll on your body– sleeping in all day, staying in bed, binge watching shows, binge-eating or not eating at all, not bathing, not doing any household chores, not showing up to meetings, staring at the ceiling lifelessly and listlessly. Yes, it happens. We go through it all. It’s all a part of your healing process. But slowly and steadily– drag yourself out of bed. Brush your teeth and comb your hair. Make your bed or organise the strewn clothes. Do the dishes or the laundry. One thing at a time. It’s totally natural and normal for you to slip back in the old pattern of inactivity. But remind yourself to get back up and do those things– one day at a time.
Reminding yourself daily: I am still worthy of love. Even when it doesn’t feel that way. Have people who support you unabashedly. Let them tell you that you are worthy of all the love and affection. Let them support you.
These are not one-time acts. They are daily practices, and some days you will fail. That’s okay. Healing is not about perfection—it’s about persistence.
If you’re reading this, I want you to hear me: you are not weak for struggling. You are not dramatic for hurting. You are not broken for taking “too long.”
Heartbreak feels unbearable because love mattered to you. And that’s not something to be ashamed of—that’s something to respect about yourself.
There will come a morning when you’ll notice it. The weight will have shifted, the silence won’t be so loud, the ache won’t stab as sharply. You won’t even know when it happened—but you’ll realize you’re breathing easier. That is how healing works: quietly, slowly, and then all at once.
So yes, it’s hard to heal a broken heart. Hard because there are no shortcuts, and harder still because you want relief right now. But if you let time do its work, and keep choosing small intentional acts of living, you will get there.
Your heart will not remain broken forever. And when it heals, it will not just be patched—it will be stronger, wiser, and still capable of love.
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