How to Win Your Ex Girlfriend Back Through Text: My 147-Draft Disaster & What Actually Worked

I spent three days writing it.

Three days of staring at my phone. Typing. Deleting. Typing again. Changing "love" to "care about" because that felt less scary. Then changing it back because it felt dishonest.

I wrote about our first date at that terrible Italian place where the waiter spilled wine on his shirt. I wrote about how he looked at me when I was sick with flu and he brought me soup. I wrote about the future I still saw - the apartment with the big windows, the dog we talked about naming Nacho, the life we were supposed to build.

I edited that text exactly 147 times. I counted.

I was sure it would work. How could it not? I was being vulnerable. Honest. Real. Everything those Instagram therapists say you should be.

I hit send at 11:47 PM on a Tuesday. Then I threw my phone across the room like it was radioactive.

He replied in four minutes.

Four minutes to destroy three days of my life.

"I appreciate you being honest and vulnerable with me. But at this point, I think it's best that we both go our separate ways."

That was it. Polite. Cold. Like an email from HR telling you that your position has been eliminated.

I read it until the words stopped making sense. Until "appreciate" looked like a foreign language. Until I realized I had just poured my beating heart into his hands and he handed it back like it was junk mail.

The rose-colored glasses I couldn't take off

Here's what I know now that I didn't know at 11:47 PM that Tuesday.

I wasn't writing to him. I was writing to the version of him I had built in my head. The one who would read my words and suddenly remember why he loved me. The one who would rush over and fix everything with a kiss like some bad movie ending.

But that guy didn't exist. Or maybe he never did.

When I reread that text now - yes, I still have it screenshot in a folder I never open - I see the desperation between every line. The way I put him on a pedestal so high he couldn't even see me anymore. The way I offered to "fight" for us when he had already left the battlefield.

I was wearing rose-colored glasses so thick I couldn't see he was treating me like an option while I was treating him like oxygen.

And the worst part? I would have done anything. Changed anything. Been anyone. Just to have him stay.

That's not love. That's fear wearing a pretty dress.

What I wish someone had told me before I pressed send

If you're reading this and your finger is hovering over that send button - if you've written your own 147-draft masterpiece to someone who left - I need you to hear this.

Stop.

Not because you shouldn't express yourself. Not because vulnerability is wrong. But because timing matters. Because your emotional state when you write that text will bleed through every word, no matter how carefully you choose them.

I should have waited. I should have taken those three days and spent them on myself instead of on a text that was doomed from the first draft. I should have healed enough to see him clearly - not as my soulmate, but as a man who walked away and stayed away.

If you're wondering whether to reach out, whether there's a right way to do this, there are resources that actually help you think through this decision without the panic I had. I found this later - much later - when I was finally thinking straight: Text Your Ex Back Review - What You Need to Know Before You Send That Message

I don't know if it would have stopped me. Probably not. I was too far gone. But maybe it helps you pause long enough to ask: am I texting from love, or from fear?

The three approaches I didn't know about

After my disaster, I became obsessed. I read everything. Watched every video. Became that friend who gives unsolicited breakup advice at parties.

Here's what I learned. There are basically three ways people try to text their ex back.

First, the direct approach. What I did. Pour your heart out, tell them everything, hope the sheer force of your love changes their mind. Spoiler: it usually doesn't. If they've decided to leave, your essay doesn't look like love. It looks like pressure.

Second, the "let's be friends" approach. Pretend you're cool. Act casual. Hope that friendship somehow turns back into love. But here's the thing - you can't heal in the same space that broke you. Every "hey how are you" feels like a lie. Every casual chat keeps the wound open. You're not moving on; you're just moving sideways.

Third - and this is the one that actually makes sense - the "heal first, text later" approach. You take time. Real time. Not three days of crying into your phone, but weeks of actually building yourself back up. And when you do text, it's light. No pressure. Just opening a door to see if they want to walk through, not breaking the door down with your feelings.

The crazy part? This third approach actually works better. Not because it's manipulative, but because it's honest. You're not pretending to be someone you're not. You're just... being someone better. Someone who knows their worth. Someone who can survive if they say no.

The golden rule I broke within five minutes

If you do nothing else, remember this: never send negative texts.

Seems obvious, right? But grief makes you stupid. Grief makes you want to say things like "you ruined my life" or "I hope you regret this" or "no one will ever love you like I did."

I didn't send those exact texts, but I thought them. I typed some and deleted them. I came close.

Here's why it matters. Every text you send trains your ex how to feel about hearing from you. If your texts feel heavy, scary, demanding - they start dreading your name on their screen. But if your texts feel light, interesting, easy - they start looking forward to them.

I made myself into someone he had to manage. Someone who needed careful handling. That's not attractive. That's exhausting.

The frequency matters too. I wanted to text every hour. Every time I thought of something funny he would like. Every time I saw something that reminded me of us. If I had given in, I would have been a constant buzzing in his pocket, a reminder of everything he was trying to escape.

Instead - and this took everything I had - I had to learn to be occasional. Predictable in my unpredictability. One day on, two days off. Letting him wonder. Letting him miss me, maybe, if he was going to miss me at all.

The first text that actually worked

Six months after my disaster text, I tried again. Not to get him back - I was almost over that by then - but to prove I could do it right. To prove I had changed.

I used something called the memory text. Simple. Light. No pressure.

"Hey, walked past that terrible Italian place on 5th today. Still remember the waiter spilling wine on your favorite shirt. Hope you're doing well."

That was it. No "I miss you." No "we should talk." Just a memory, shared, and then I walked away from my phone for three hours.

He replied. "Haha, that shirt never recovered. I'm good, how are you?"

Short. Casual. But warm.

We talked for twenty minutes that day. About work, about his new apartment, about nothing important. And when the conversation started to lag, I ended it. "Got to run, but good catching up."

I left him wanting more. Or at least, not wanting less.

The elephant I couldn't ignore

But what if your breakup was messier than mine? What if you said terrible things, begged, showed up at their door, became someone you don't recognize?

You can't just pretend that didn't happen. You can't send a casual memory text when the last thing you said was "I hate you" or "I can't live without you."

That's when you need the elephant in the room text. Acknowledge the mess. Apologize without defending. Show you've changed, not just said you've changed.

"Hey. I know I didn't handle the breakup well. I was scared and I acted desperate and I'm sorry for that. I've spent the last few months working on myself and I'm in a much better place now. I don't have any expectations, but I miss talking to you and wondered if you'd be open to catching up sometime."

Then you wait. A week. Maybe two. Because that text is heavy, even when it's honest. It needs space to land.

What attraction actually looks like in texts

Here's what nobody tells you. Attraction over text isn't about being sexy or mysterious. It's about being interesting. Being someone they want to know more about.

My ex was an introvert. Hated parties, loved books, needed quiet. So when I texted him about some crazy party I went to, I could feel him withdraw through the screen. Wrong move. I was showing him a life he didn't want to be part of.

But when I texted about spending the weekend at my aunt's cabin, rereading Harry Potter for the fifth time, surrounded by trees and silence - he lit up. That was his world. That was a life he could imagine sharing.

You have to know what they loved about you. Not what you wish they loved. What actually drew them in. And then show them that person - improved, confident, but recognizably the one they fell for.

The text I never got to send

A year after my disaster text, I met someone else. Someone who treated my vulnerability like a gift, not a burden. Who answered my texts with excitement, not obligation. Who made me realize what I should have been looking for all along.

I deleted the screenshot that week. Not because I was angry anymore, but because I finally understood. That 147-draft text wasn't for him. It was for me. A way to process my grief by putting it into words. A way to feel like I had done everything I could, so I wouldn't have to wonder "what if."

If you're writing that text right now - if you're on draft 50 or 100 or 147 - I get it. I really do. But maybe write it in your notes app instead. Let it sit. Read it in a week. In a month. See if it still feels true when you're not crying.

And if you do send something, send it from strength, not desperation. Send it because you're curious, not because you're dying. Send it knowing you'll survive either answer.

Because you will. I did.

What text did you send that you wish you could take back? Tell me below. And be gentle with yourself - we all learn the hard way.