Mourning Labor in Psychology:

Mourning labor, a Freudian term, refers to the period after separation and refers to the time required to overcome the shock and pain of separation.

How do I tell you to understand best… I don't know when you realize best what is happening to you… when you let your tears flow from sadness or when you hold them back because of your anger…

I don't know exactly when you get the biggest despair: when you hear, but you don't want to understand - because the fulminating truth seems impossible to accept - or when you understand, but you don't want to hear the truth anymore - because it can't be supported.

I don't know when despair strikes you the most: when you realize that you will never see the face of your loved one again or the moment when your conscience embraces the thought that from now on you are the only one left, the being on your own.

I don't know what makes your spine shiver harder: the fact that your hand has been released or the fact that you don't know how to slip without holding anyone's hand in vain? Or that the hand you may catch at some point is not the familiar hand? I have no idea when the poison starts to seep into your body.

Sometimes it happens slowly, sometimes violently. Most of the time you want good quality morphine so that you don't feel the pain anymore, other times you want an anesthetic to soothe all the feelings in you. But other times you just want to die. To die easily and quickly. Or it hurts less.

I don't know how much it helps that you cut your hair, that you look better than ever because in, the puzzle of your life, the beauty in front of the mirror no longer connects with the one you have left. You can't help but look at friends who say to themselves that "it's nothing, you'll find your happiness" when you have no idea what the infamous word means… because every day, with every passing second, part of you dies, leaks, passes.

I don't know how much time helps when, after months of separation, an individual who looks like him manages to silence your heart. There were many flights that broke down prematurely.

I think I don't know exactly when the climax of withdrawal starts and when your soul is impetuously asking for the drug. I don't know when your world is most populated with memories, regrets, questions, denials, dead days, nights like days, or when you start cursing the very things you believed in the most.

I don't know when the repentance begins and the memories of the beginning of the relationship are dizzyingly installed, determined to bring you down with their perfection. I don't know why the mind closes its eyes and doesn't want to see that things have changed quite a bit lately.

Your life becomes a cheap comedy that has either been suspended in the air with passengers in it or its button has been broken, bringing you back to earth. Nobody comes to ask you if you want to get out of it. And you don't know why that happens.

I don't know when you wake up in a deep hole where thoughts run away from each other for no reason or discernment. You can easily confuse this haul with a madhouse where minds never return on their own. Waiting for the slightest sign from you, waiting for permission and approval…

But, at least at that moment, they are hit by a cruel, too cruel refusal… I don't know what hurts the most: she will never be knocked down again, that he will never enter that door again, or that you will never open it again. I don't know how long a breakup hurts because now you're probably too sure it will ever pass to tell you something else.

I don't know how much it helps your friends, walking in nature, reading a book, tears or popcorn consumed in front of a TV because now nothing seems to take the weight off your shoulders. I don't know what trip around the world could arouse your enthusiasm if your world slowly, slowly collapsed around you.

I recently read in a magazine that a miracle pill was invented that cures suffering from love, abandonment, and betrayal… I don't know why I don't believe in the miracle it promises at all. But I know that even though it seems impossible now, at some point, the pain passes. Everything passes… Maybe never completely… But it passes.

"Mourning labor" is too scientific, a psychological term, to be able to digest its meaning in the second immediately following a breakup. And no, it's not just about love, it's about any separation from a certain person, from a certain place, from a certain job, from a certain principle that you believed in, from anything that you developed a deep attachment that you have become accustomed to having around you. "Mourning labor", a Freudian term, refers to the period after separation and refers to the time required to overcome the shock and pain of a rupture.

Depending on each individual and what he or she has invested emotionally in a relationship, recovery is quicker or harder.

Usually, detachment is not done effortlessly and without going through an amalgam of feelings that can be downright devastating through their intensity and annoyance. We oscillate between anger, love, clinging to the past, non-acceptance, melancholy, and sadness and are tempted to build an idealized image of the past even if it was far from perfect.

The process itself is an overwhelming psychological experience and can be emotionally devitalizing. Your power to fight with uprooting, with love, with the absence of love, with the suffering that remains after comes into play.

The change that comes with parting seems like chaos. And chaos scares and produces fear. It is not necessarily love that hurts, but the emptiness that that "something" that was part of your life leaves behind. His absence hurts. But everyone succeeds in the end.

In the beat of their rhythm, each one manages to detach himself from the past and to start the construction of a new stage in life. And there is no "can't" during this period of mourning labor. There is only a "must". You have to move on.