A breakup is never merely the end of a shared path, nor is it caused exclusively by obvious events like infidelity, the erosion of habit, or emotional detachment. Every time a relationship ends, it acts as a mirror that drags deeper, older traumas to the surface. It is not just the “now” that collapses, but the entire secretly stored memory of our soul regarding security, abandonment, and our self-worth that awakens.

Humans are beings deeply allergic to reality, which is why we refuse to accept the obvious. When admitting the end becomes too painful, a self-protection mechanism is activated and instead of changing our belief about how important the relationship is, we change our explanation of the facts.

Rather than admitting that the other person no longer wants us, we invent excuses: “they are confused,” “they are going through a difficult phase,” “it wasn’t the right time.” They need time, they will come back. We turn the breakup into a temporary misunderstanding or a trial, just so we don’t have to look the raw truth in the eye: that the relationship, as a living organism, has died.

Imagination, Hope, and Reality

The period of a breakup is an arena where imagination and reality collide violently:

Imagination and Hope: They act as a refuge. There, the relationship is fixed, the partner’s flaws are erased, and the ideal version of the story emerges. However, when hope is artificially prolonged, it turns into a prison, and time becomes our sentence.

Reality: It is “ground zero.” The realization that the cycle has closed, that the other person chose a different path, and that the voids will not be filled by the past.

What we lose: The investment we made, our expectations, and the image of ourselves within that relationship. The version of the future you had built in your mind, the plans, the scenarios for tomorrow, the sense of where you would live or what you would do together is abruptly erased, leaving a massive void where potential once existed. We lose the sense of security and predictability. Even if the relationship had problems, there was stability. You knew what to expect; you had a foundation. You lose your inside jokes, your traditions, the habits that only the two of you understood.

Thus, a sudden silence is created in our daily lives. And when comfort had insidiously turned into dependence, you didn’t even notice. Nor did you notice when habit had become your normality, your autopilot. It is when the brain stopped looking at who the other person truly is and simply started relying on their presence as a given. Like oxygen you breathed without thinking. Therefore, when the relationship ends, the shock does not come because you lost the person of your dreams. It comes because the rug is suddenly pulled out from under your feet, and your system panics, desperately searching for the routine that provided its security.

The Illusion of Projection

And I ask myself:

since we have minimal awareness of the dark regions of our own psyche, is the certainty with which we invest in others actually an act of blindness?

The truth is that we do not rely on who the other person is, but on our need for someone to be there to house our dreams. We dress reality with our desire, we create an ideal version of them and then convince ourselves that this is our destination.

And then, what happens?

What we call a “relationship” happens: a mutual projection. You see in the other what you need to see, and the other sees in you what suits their own psyche. You never truly love each other, you each love the role the other plays in your own internal drama. And when the bubble bursts and we collide with the other’s reality, seeing clearly at last who they truly are, the conflict begins. This is why breakups are so violent. You are not angry because the other turned out different than you thought, but because you realize you were living in a shared lie, where each person saw only what they wanted to see.

But why does no one admit it? Because admitting that you know neither yourself nor the other means tearing down your last line of defense. It means running out of fairy tales and falling straight into the void. That is why we prefer to fight, to get angry, and to hide in our lies; the truth is always more terrifying than the end itself.

And is the pain real? Yes, the pain is absolutely real. Even if everything was a fantasy and a mutual projection, the body does not understand lies. The brain reacts to the loss as if your very survival were threatened, going through withdrawal. The pain is physical, existential, and it burns just as intensely, whether the love was real or not.

Defense and Reaction Mechanisms

When the system is threatened, everyone activates their own self-defense reflexes. Why do we react differently? Because each of us is programmed by a different emotional past.

For some, the breakup hits exactly where they fear most. Even if they understand that the other wants to leave, the fact that the situation ends on terms outside their control terrifies them. They immediately raise walls, become cold, and distance themselves abruptly to avoid getting hurt.

For others, the reaction is the exact opposite. Fear hits a breaking point, turning the breakup into a threat to survival. They cling to everything, sending messages, begging and cannot endure the void, because their identity was entirely tied to the other’s presence.

A third type is in constant turmoil, as the source of their security has become a source of danger. Their reaction is erratic: one moment they want revenge, the next they fall into despair, stuck in an exhausting loop.

Of course, there is also the person who, while hurt and mourning, manages to hold themselves together. Their self-esteem is not entirely demolished, so they can accept reality and move on without destroying the other person or themselves.

Common Escape Mechanisms:

Anger and Revenge: They act as a shield to hide fragility and provide an illusion of strength.

Rebound: A mechanism to avoid mourning and the void, where the new person offers instant validation like a painkiller.

Rationalization and Intellectualization: Coldly analyzing the breakup like a math problem to avoid emotion.

Self-deprecation: Assuming full responsibility, which offers the illusion of control (“If I had done something else, they would have stayed”).

Why is it so hard to move on?

Because a breakup does not just leave us alone, it returns us to that old, primitive place where we first felt unwanted or expendable. We don’t get stuck because we can’t find another person, but because today’s rejection locks onto an old, unresolved wound from our childhood.

The brain and body refuse to let go because they believe that if they accept the end, the worst fear will be confirmed: that you remain completely unprotected and helpless in a world that abandons you. That is why the thought gets stuck like a needle on a broken record, desperately searching for a way to rewrite the ending and save ourselves.

The Stages of Mourning

Initial Shock and Denial: The first stage is the disconnection of the nervous system. The psyche refuses to accept reality because the threat is too great to process immediately.

Anger and Guilt: The mind tries to find a culprit to regain control, either by turning anger outward (blaming the other) or inward (punishing oneself with the thought “I wasn’t enough”).

Bargaining and Hope: The brain desperately tries to restore the old balance, creating scenarios of how things could have been different, feeding the illusion that we can control time.

Descent into Despair and Mourning: The deepest point, where defenses fall, and we face pure loneliness and childhood abandonment traumas.

Acceptance and Integration: The final stage where the psyche is restructured. The breakup is no longer considered a threat or a disaster, but an experience.

The Next Day is Not Redemption

When all previous stages end and the frenzy of mourning subsides, society and self-help books wait to see a magical transformation: “self-sufficiency,” catharsis, and a person who finds themselves stronger. However, reality is much rawer and not at all romantic.

The soul does not react with the same manual to every loss. For some, time slowly closes everything, erases the edges, and leaves behind a soft scar that no longer hurts. You learn to breathe freely again, until the other person becomes just a story you once lived.

But there are those other times, the deeper ones, where the rift remains open. Where even if years pass, even if your life has moved on and you have filled the voids, a random scent, a phrase, or a lonely night is enough to remind you that the absence is there, motionless.

I don’t know which is heavier: forgetting or remembering? Perhaps we carry both within us: the marks that became invisible and the cracks we simply learned to pass by without touching.

How much time will it take to get over someone?

Imagine it like breaking your leg. You will have a cast for a few months, and your mobility will be limited. You will need help from others then. Support. When you take it off, you will need physical therapy, and then, slowly, you will return to your activities.

Healing time is a purely personal matter. There is no stopwatch or recipe. One person will remove the cast quickly and run again, while another will limp for years because the bone healed crooked. The point is not how much time passes on the calendar, but how deeply the other had taken root inside you. When their presence becomes the floor beneath your feet, time alone is not enough. You need “therapy” for the soul to learn to rely solely on your own feet again.

Loss of Innocence and Inevitable Cynicism

What follows is an inevitable, absolute disillusionment. A piece of your innocence and faith in people dies. You realize experientially that people are deeply selfish, that love is almost always conditional, and that most relationships are merely transactions so that one is not alone with oneself.

Fortunately, however, not all people are like that. The issue is not to let this pain become your shield for the future. If you do not process your wound, the next person who comes along will unfairly pay the price, and eventually, you remain closed off within yourself, unable to form a true relationship again.

There are also people who continue to love completely after a breakup. Their structure is based on the need to keep bonds alive, turning pain into constant devotion or, often, into an equally strong idealization. What is the point?

I believe that no matter how close you get to a person, there is always a distance that can never be bridged. You cannot enter the other’s soul, nor can anyone enter yours completely. When we fall in love or bond, we believe for a moment that this distance has disappeared, that we have found our “other half,” and that loneliness has ended. But when the relationship breaks or ends, the illusion collapses abruptly. Then you realize again that the other was merely a visitor and that you were, and will remain, alone with yourself.

From the moment we are born, we learn to exist through the eyes of others. The other is proof that you exist, that you are seen, that you deserve to take up space in this world. When there is a partner, this mirror gives you a stable image of yourself and protects you. But when the mirror breaks and absolute silence and lack of validation arrive, there is no one to remind you who you are, to look at you with love, or to validate your existence. Only your own voice remains inside your head, which often becomes critical or empty.

Without the other absorbing part of your attention and energy, you fall under the entire weight of your internal reality. You are forced to look directly at all the doubts, fears, and darkness you carry within you, things you were hiding behind the relationship.

Winnicott said something chilling about this very thing: that the deepest fear of human beings is not something that will happen in the future, but something that has already happened in the past (a primordial void, an abandonment, a lack of security) but was never fully experienced then, because they were too young to endure it. Thus, the brain lives with a permanent, subterranean terror that if the mirror, the relationship, the external support, leaves, they will fall back into that primordial void and collapse completely. That is why loneliness feels not just like an absence, but like a threat of annihilation. Does it?

I believe that every breakup is ultimately about the past and not the present. When a relationship ends, we are not fighting what is happening now, we are fighting what we carried from the past. The other person leaves in the present, but we hurt for the old voids, the insecurities, and the abandonment fears that took root years before we even met them. The breakup simply pushes the button and brings all the unresolved traumas of yesterday to the surface.

Or maybe we do not suffer simply because the child within us has been wounded, but because the illusion that someone else can complete our lack is shattered.