When her relationship ends, what does the single girl pour into next?
Hello! I’m ryan p. Artist, writer, and professional ex-girlfriend.
As another failed relationship crashes onto the sandy shores of my heart, I’m once again left to my own seashells and thingamabobs.
While I’m no stranger to a broken heart, I can’t say I necessarily missed the trials and tribulations of singledom. After all, I am a lover girl through and through. However, this newfound sense of freedom and lack of testosterone by my side really has me thinking:
When her relationship ends, what does the single girl pour into next? And furthermore… what does life look like after heartbreak?
Work.
When I got broken up with, I found it easy to throw myself into work. Aside from taking up more shifts at my day job, I also used my sudden influx of free-time for a multitude of projects. For example:
I worked on a home studio I had been building out of the guest room at my house.
I wrote a lot. Journaling, essays, notes app poetry, you name it.
Art! Shameless plug. (ryanparacuelles.com)
You see, the thing with working after a breakup is that it’s one of the easiest distractions to run to. It’s like laborious escapism. When you have shit to do, you can turn on the more logical, professional side of your brain, and completely shut off the chain-smoking, crying in her bed side.
In my case, working has helped me process a lot of what I had been feeling. Not only did I have access to a string of coworkers that were more than happy to hear me ramble on and on about my ex; but I was able to take my pain and turn it into things that I’m proud of. The labor that I was formerly putting into my relationship has now drifted over into my practice.
So take this from me: When you think about texting him… get busy, bitch.
Friends.
The first week after a breakup is always the hardest.
You still miss your person, immensely. You’re overcome with what seems like a tidal wave of emotions, all jumbled-up in a haphazard wreck of confusion, sadness, insecurity, and eventually… anger.
So, to prevent yourself from drowning, you reach out to the other people in your life. I was lucky enough to have friends that dragged me out of the swarming pool of relationship waters, and get me back on dry land.
At a tofu house in Koreatown, my friends Ahlina and Veronica resuscitated me with beers, good food, and invigorating conversations.
The best part about getting together with your girlfriends is being able to openly gossip about the happenings in your love lives. I caught them up to date with the crash of mine, Ahlina had just gotten back from a trip up north with her ex, and Veronica was seeing a new guy that she was scared to trust.
For hours, we talked sex, love, the past, present, and unavoidable future. I learned from Ahlina that sushi and shibari were an unlikely, yet tantalizing pairing. And I also found out that Veronica is a certified freak (positive).
We all learned a little bit more about each other that night. And for that, I am grateful. It felt like the emptiness in my heart had been refilled and replenished, even if it was just temporary. After smoking myself sick in the parking lot post-meal, Veronica took us back home.
On our drive back to reality, away from all the noise and smells, my thoughts began to swirl again. We hadn’t even reached the freeway when I asked:
“How do I stop thinking about him?”
My friends paused for what felt like a century, before Veronica answered,
“Honestly, doing what you’re doing right now. And it’s still so fresh… with time, you’ll move on.”
I bit my tongue. At that moment, the thought of moving on seemed terrifying to me. But somewhere deep down, I knew it would be for the best. And even as I’m typing this now, I wouldn’t say I regret the way I was. Because the thing with friends… is they’ll always be there to accept you when you’re faced with rejection.
Fashion.
When I got sick of going on walks at my local parks and reconnecting with nature, I resorted to reconnecting with fashion.
AKA: I’ve been buying a bunch of clothes and beefing up my Pinterest boards.
However, after my collection of vintage sweaters fell on me while trying to stuff a pile of socks into my mini dresser… I figured it was time for a closet clean-out.
So I tore up my room. It was like sifting through years and years of a couple bad decisions, lots of really good decisions, and oh my god—I totally forgot I had this! But that’s the thing with clothes. They can transport you back to specific places, phases, and people.
When I got to my growing collection of purses, that’s when the nostalgia bug bit me:
Inside of my hot pink Lala purse, it was what I’ve been truly avoiding all along. This was the purse I’d always take with me on dates with my ex. And being the type-B bitch that I am, nestled into the greige lining, were papers, an envelope, and memories of our past. Pamphlets from a couple art shows we attended, a page torn from his notepad with his writing on it, and a wrapper from a pack of starbursts we shared in his car.
I took everything out, splaying the objects on my bedroom floor, and reminisced. The truth is… I didn’t know how to feel. When you’re confronted with the past, it’s always important to take a step back and really think: Do I miss this person? Or do I miss the familiarity? The routine… of waking up and loving someone. Having them be the first and last thought on your mind. Choosing them, and only hoping that wherever they are—they’re doing the same.
That day, I decided to break the routine.
After gathering what used to be the pieces of my heart, I went ahead and stuffed it all into a binder that coincidentally held memorabilia of my ex from college. Some may call it hoarding, but I like to think of it as memory logging. Also, the artist in me always holds onto things, with the possibility of being able to profit off of it in the future. Whether that be through work or inspiration.
Now, with a clean closet and an as-clean-as-it-can-be mind… I felt ready. Ready for new starts, new memories, and new fashion.
Party.
If all else fails, there’s always one thing you can fall back on.
At a bar in Silverlake, a group of single women and a single gay set off for one mission: To have a fabulous time, being their fabulous selves.
Sparking my fifth cigarette of the night, my friend Eric had led us to the outdoor patio full of the typical L.A. archetypes. You had the patchwork sleeve male manipulators, the Instagram models with an affinity for baby bangs and fig matcha, and the alternative they/thems who hid snortable drugs in the shaft of their vintage cowboy boots.
We were the out-of-towners. But in a city that’s basically the epicenter for transplants, we thought we fit right in.
As we assembled our makeshift seating area made up of chairs that looked like they were pulled straight from my kindergarten classroom, I began thinking about the circumstances that brought us here.
There were two heartbroken girls, one was fresh and the other (me) was just getting out of the thick of it. My friend Allison had an enlightening sexual experience a few days prior. And our emotional-support twink™ Eric was hungover, yet powering through it.
With these powers invested in us, tequila sodas, and a notably strong cosmopolitan… I got effectively wasted.
So, we hit the dance floor. They were playing a genre of music that I could only describe as “Spongebob when he was turning up with that wild jellyfish”. This resulted in me throwing on my (large) sunglasses and trying my hardest not to bust out laughing in front of the DJ.
However, that isn’t to say I didn’t have fun… because I did. Especially after taking a much-needed smoke break with a blunt one of the girls in our group had brought.
By the end of the night, we found ourselves back on the (noticeably fuller) patio. I had a heart-to-heart conversation with Eric and he made me hyper-aware of my cigarette addiction.
It was all love, deliciously mind-numbing, and for the first time in weeks… I wasn’t thinking about my ex.
While partying can bring out the worst in people, it can also jumpstart the beginnings of healing. As long as you’re with the right people, in the right place, at the right time. And when my hangxiety began to dawn on me the morning after, I received a text from my freshly-single friend, Kate.
“heyy thank u for inviting me out & letting us tag along :) it definitely helped me feel better <3 we gotta do this again soon”
I smiled. And just like that, relief washed over me.
Most times, a breakup can feel like your whole world is falling apart. In my case, it sort of did. But I am extremely lucky to have people around me who dug through the debris, yanked me out from under it, gave me a spank on my ass, and dusted me off.
While I’m still a mess at times, I know I’ll be okay. And as life moves on, along with my heart, who knows—maybe I can do the same rescuing that others have done for me. And that is the most rewarding part of heartbreak. It’s reconnecting with not just yourself, but with community.
So cheers to the single girls, and all of the broken hearts we’ve endured to get here. <3