The Breakup Tunnel

The healing process is difficult, and it looks different for everyone. For me, I’ve always seen a breakup as a tunnel.

You are at the entrance. Sometimes, you’ve arrived here alone –because you made the choice to leave, because staying was no longer bearable. Other times, it wasn’t your choice at all. Someone brought you here. Maybe they were supposed to take you somewhere safe, but instead, they stopped the car and left you here without warning. They forced you out, and now here you are–standing in front of a tunnel you have no choice but to cross.

In any case, you’re here–standing in front of it. You know you have to go through it. There’s no turning back, no way to avoid it. But it’s dark. It’s unfamiliar. You don’t know how long it is, how many obstacles you’ll face along the way, or what waits for you on the other side. It’s terrifying. It’s dark. But you have no choice.

So you begin–tentatively. One step at a time. At first, you cling to the entrance, afraid to go deeper. You don’t want to lose sight of the light behind you–and you cannot see any light ahead. You fear being swallowed by the dark. Alone. Without rescue, without direction. No way back, and nothing visible ahead. Eventually you start moving. You have no choice.

You’re in total darkness.

You can’t see a thing. All you can hear is your heartbeat and your thoughts echoing in the silence. This is where the real work begins. Quiet, unseen, agonizing. You’re already exhausted–worn down by the walk, by the weight of despair. But again... you have no other choice but to keep walking.

At some point, you need a moment of rest. Just a pause–to catch your breath. And then, up ahead, you see a light. You feel a flicker of hope. Just a little farther, you tell yourself. A little more, and maybe I can finally breathe.

But the light keeps growing.

And suddenly, you realize–it’s not the end of the tunnel. It’s a train. It hits you full force and crushes you. Hope turns into pain, and you’re left even more exhausted than before.

Still, you keep going. Because you have no choice. You stop again, wary now. Maybe there are more trains ahead. Maybe every light is a trick. But even with no guarantees–no clear way forward, and no path back—you keep walking. Step by painful step. Not because you’re strong. Not because you believe in the destination. But because standing still isn’t an option.

And at some point, when walking becomes habit, you keep moving simply because it’s what you’ve learned to do. You press on–not with purpose, but through repetition. And then, one day, you look up… and you’ve reached the edge.

It’s not just a sliver of light anymore. It’s light. Full and blinding.

How did I get here? you wonder. How did I not see I was getting close?

And then you understand: you had closed your eyes. You were lost in your thoughts, in the pain. You were living inside them–and somehow, they were what kept you moving. Automatically. Involuntarily. They carried you forward when you had nothing left.

And because you were so deep inside yourself, you forgot to count the miles. You forgot to search for the light. So it surprised you–suddenly, gently–it was just there.

You reached the end of the tunnel. Scarred, exhausted, carrying painful memories you never asked for. But none of that matters now.

Because now, the flowers have color again. And they smell like something.

Because you see the blue in the sky.

Because the birds are singing.

Because the world moves–and you notice. You hear. You feel.

Because you are yourself again. Only now, stronger. Wiser. More equipped to live.