The Playlist That Got Me Through Heartbreak

The Playlist That Got Me Through Heartbreak

They say music heals what words cannot, and I never fully understood that until my heart shattered one quiet October morning. The end wasn’t explosive—no screaming, no betrayal, just the slow, soul-bruising realization that love was no longer enough. One moment we were making weekend plans, and the next, he was packing a bag, saying, “I just don’t think we’re right anymore.”

I didn’t cry right away. I didn’t even speak. I just sat on the edge of the bed, watching the door close. When it did, silence fell, deafening and heavy. It was in that silence that I turned to music. Not as a cure, but as a crutch—one song at a time, one emotion at a time.

1. “All I Want” – Kodaline

The first song I added to the playlist was this. The raw, aching honesty of the lyrics—“If you loved me, why'd you leave me?”—hit harder than any advice friends tried to offer. Kodaline gave me permission to sit with the sadness, to feel it without shame. That first night, I played it on repeat in the dark. I didn’t sleep. I didn’t want to. I just wanted to feel it all, uninterrupted.

2. “Skinny Love” – Bon Iver

Two days later, I found myself walking aimlessly through the city with my hood up and headphones in. “Come on skinny love just last the year…” Bon Iver’s whispery pain felt like it echoed mine. The song isn’t loud—it’s fractured and fragile. Just like I was. I started to understand that love can be beautiful and still not be enough. That people can try, and still fail. And that mourning a relationship also means mourning the version of yourself that existed in it.

3. “Liability” – Lorde

By week two, the self-blame crept in. Was I too much? Too emotional? Too needy? Lorde’s “They say, ‘You’re a little much for me, you're a liability’” cut through me like a confession I hadn't been brave enough to make. It became my anthem during long baths and even longer journal entries. It told me it was okay to be intense. That my feelings weren’t flaws, just truths someone else couldn’t carry.

4. “Someone Like You” – Adele

There’s a cliché about listening to Adele post-breakup, but clichés exist for a reason. I remember the exact moment I broke down listening to this song—I was sitting on the kitchen floor, eating cold toast, hearing Adele sing, “I wish nothing but the best for you too…” I wanted to mean those words. I wasn’t there yet. But that song helped me visualize a future version of myself who could say it with grace. Who could let go.

5. “I Know The End” – Phoebe Bridgers

Eventually, grief turned to anger. “The end is here…” Phoebe Bridgers screams near the end of this song like she’s exorcising every ghost inside her. I screamed along in the car one night on an empty highway, windows down, volume up. It was cathartic—ugly and freeing. That scream was my turning point. It didn't erase the pain, but it gave me control of it, if only for a moment.

6. “Dog Days Are Over” – Florence + The Machine

Hope crept back slowly, like sunlight through a cracked window. I didn’t notice the shift at first. But one morning, while making coffee, this song came on shuffle. “Run fast for your mother, run fast for your father…” And I danced. Alone in my kitchen, hair messy, heart still sore—but dancing. That was the first time I felt alive again. Florence reminded me that the worst part had passed. That joy, however small, still had a place in my life.

7. “Shake It Out” – Florence + The Machine

Yes, Florence again. Because she became the voice of my rebirth. “It’s always darkest before the dawn.” That lyric became my mantra. I added it to sticky notes on my mirror, scrawled it in my planner, muttered it under my breath when the sadness tried to return. This song wasn’t about forgetting—it was about releasing. It was about accepting that pain had been part of my story, but didn’t have to be the ending.

8. “Golden” – Harry Styles

Months passed. My playlist became a ritual—my morning companion, my evening solace. And then, one morning in spring, I added a new track. “I know that you're scared because I'm so open…” Harry Styles’ “Golden” felt like the start of a new chapter. I wasn’t in love again, but I was open. I smiled listening to it on a sunny walk, realizing I didn’t flinch at the thought of love anymore. I was healing.

That playlist didn’t just get me through heartbreak—it narrated my recovery. Each song is a timestamp, a memory, a chapter in a story that started with a goodbye but ended with a rediscovery of self.

I still revisit the playlist sometimes. Not because I’m sad, but because it reminds me how far I’ve come. It reminds me that I survived, one track at a time.