How to Heal a Broken Heart

In her poem, Gathering Light for Winter, Jeannette Encinias wrote:

When you have no words for the wounds.
When your body is as hollowed out and dark
As a jack-o-lantern in November.
When you have lost your north, your south,
Your east, and your west
Stay still.

Who is not familiar with the desolation that accompanies loss? Adversity takes many forms: The death of a loved one, divorce, separation, children leaving the nest, unemployment, retirement, miscarriage, infertility, a life-threatening health diagnosis, and something no one can escape—aging.

Further fueling grief provoked by these familiar life experiences is the current pandemic. During the past 18 months, managing the global threat of Covid-19 has resulted in the abrupt loss of vital social connections and the absence of an in-person work community. It has robbed us of interactions that routinely provide support, socialization, and stability.

Yes, life’s wounds come in many forms, and no one is exempt. All of us at some point experience unexpected change, emotional pain, and grief. Most profound is when the onset is sudden, not unlike lightning striking your life. As changes, both large and small, force us to grapple with a new reality that does not align with the future we had hoped for we experience sadness, shock, depression, anger, and disappointment

All hardship is emotionally and physically disruptive and can result in difficulty concentrating social withdrawal and lethargy. It may trigger loss of appetite, binge eating, inability to sleep, and feelings of despair. It can also lead to substance abuse. In fact, startling new data indicates alcohol consumption and alcohol-related hospitalizations in the US have significantly increased since the start of the pandemic.

How does one move forward while shouldering the crushing weight of unanticipated change?

Source: By Siam Pukkato on Shutterstock

Here’s one approach that worked for Shannon, a woman struggling with a traumatic and life-shattering divorce. In a short span of time, she found her world upended. She said she was immobilized and terrified as she confronted a wholly unpredictable future.

When I interviewed her, Shannon said she had been seeking counsel from friends but then had a brainstorm. She decided to seek advice from what she called “the smartest person I know.” She turned to Google for answers.

One evening she reportedly typed into the Google search bar: “How do I heal my broken heart?”

The top search result propelled her on a restorative path. It offered sage yet practical advice in two consecutive steps. Google’s advice to this lovelorn woman was to promote the healing process by writing two letters.

Step One: A Goodbye Letter

First, Google directed her to draft a letter to herself that detailed all she feared and that described all she had lost. It advised her to pour her pain onto paper. So, she did.

Shannon said, “One night I sat at the computer with a martini, and I cried. I wrote about my world crashing in on me. I wrote about not having my husband at my side as I aged….of the loss of my home…of no longer being with the only person with whom I shared history and memories of raising our family over so many decades….of my worry about financial security…of our shared dream for retirement….of not knowing how to fix a leaky faucet…of the loss of our holiday traditions…of knowing we would never enjoy our grandchildren together…of feeling so alone. I wrote about my life being wildly out of control and about my future being unrecognizable.

Shannon said her experience writing the letter was profoundly exhausting, but she decided to stay the course and proceed with Google’s second recommendation.

Then, as Google advised, Shannon waited a few days and again sat at her computer, another martini nearby, and she wrote a second letter. Google advised her to visualize a brand-spanking-new future and to consider all the doors and windows that were opening. Shannon said initially this exercise was a bit trickier and required deep thought, yet she slowly began to write.

“I began to imagine what the new chapters of my life might look like. I began to paint a picture of all that was on the horizon. I actually laughed as I envisioned a clean house and no longer having to pick up after dirty dishes in the sink and day-old clothes on the floor. I wrote about how much fun it would be to finally travel to Paris. I could at long last get a dog because I no longer had to worry about my husband's allergies. I visualized making new friends, both men and women. I thought about the romantic adventures on the horizon. Then I took a giant leap and wrote that I would one day find a bright and brilliant new love. Imagine that. At my stage of life. Once I began writing, I couldn’t stop,” she said laughing.

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With this letter, Shannon had begun to create a roadmap for her future, one that was limitless and full of hope.

With her Google assignment completed, Shannon left the computer feeling energized. She said she felt she had turned a corner on her grief, and she began experiencing the rush of anticipation.

Building Blocks of Resilience

This Google exercise relied on two core principles designed to build resilience.

First, it expedited the grieving process by directly immersing Shannon in her loss. By writing about her sadness, she began to accept the inevitability of her situation. It helped her understand that nothing in life is certain and that every decision we make carries an inherent risk. At its core, resilience is about accepting this risk.

As the iconic author, Joan Didion long ago wrote, “…Anything worth having has its price. People who respect themselves are willing to accept the risk that the venture will go bankrupt, that the liaison may not turn out to be one in which every day is a holiday because you’re married to me. They are willing to invest something of themselves; they may not play at all, but when they do play, they know the odds.”

Resilient people accept the odds.

Journaling is a time-tested balm for pain. Writing about a personal heartache provides an aerial view from which to assess the experience and gain a fresh perspective. It is a technique that helps the writer detach and heal.

Author Gabrielle Zevin wisely reflected on the importance of detachment when she said, “They should tell you when you’re born: have a ‘suitcase heart’ and be ready to travel.”

In other words, always be prepared to let go and move forward.

Second, resilient people know how to create a fresh vision of the future. After purging her pain in the first letter, Shannon wrote the second letter to create a blueprint to move her forward. It led her to find hidden gifts in the adversity.

Happiness expert Sonja Lyubomirsky has reflected on the value of writing as a means to create joy and a positive life: “Fortunately, numerous research-tested activities have been shown to boost positive thinking. The most robust strategy involves keeping a journal regularly for 10 to 20 minutes per day, in which we write down our hopes and dreams for the future, visualize them coming true and describe how we might get there and what that would feel like. This exercise, even when engaged in as briefly as two minutes, makes people happier and even healthier.”

Resilient people fully embrace hope.

Psychiatrist Elizabeth Kubler-Ross summed it up well, “The most beautiful people we have known are those who have known defeat, known suffering, known struggle, known loss, and have found their way out of the depths. These persons have an appreciation, a sensitivity, and an understanding of life that fills them with compassion, gentleness, and a deep loving concern. Beautiful people do not just happen.”

Their formula:

• Grieve and detach from what is past.
• Accept the new reality.
• Reset expectations for the future.

The smartest person Shannon knew put her on a path to healing, and she has since recommended to her friends struggling to adapt to unexpected life changes this simple exercise of saying goodbye to sorrow and then hello to all that is possible.

As Jeannette Encinias concluded in her poem, Gathering Light for Winter,

For isn’t holding hands with
Sorrow a bridge?
Dying while you are alive
Birthing your next self
And then
Beginning anew