How to Stop Breaking Your Own Heart

How to Stop Breaking Your Own Heart Plot Summary

Introduction

Healing has a gentle way of surprising us when we least expect it. For me, it arrived on a crisp autumn morning during one of my daily walks in the local park. As I ventured deeper into the forest, the surrounding noise gradually faded, allowing nature's symphony to take center stage. In that moment of solitude, I was overwhelmed with appreciation for the peace I had finally achieved in my life. After years of struggling with depression and feeling lost, I had manifested a level of serenity that once seemed impossible. Standing there, surrounded by trees that had weathered countless seasons, I realized that despite all the heartache and setbacks, I had found my way back to myself. We all have moments when we feel disconnected from our true essence, trapped in patterns that repeatedly break our own hearts. Whether through depending on others for validation, pursuing unattainable perfection, or staying in our comfort zones out of fear, we often become our own worst enemies. But there's profound hope in recognizing these patterns. By understanding how we sabotage ourselves, we can begin the journey toward authentic self-love and heart protection. This path isn't about becoming invulnerable, but rather about creating healthy boundaries, embracing solitude, living with intention, and ultimately, discovering the courage to trust the process of our own becoming. Through stories of struggle and transformation, we'll explore practical ways to stop breaking our own hearts and start nurturing our deepest selves.

Chapter 1: Recognizing How We Break Our Own Hearts

My first recollection of heartbreak came when I was just four years old, and surprisingly, it wasn't from a playmate or a lost toy – it was from my grandfather telling me he didn't love me. It was my first week of school, and my grandfather had picked me up because my mother couldn't make it. Excited to share my day, I chattered away as we walked home. His response, spoken in a heavy Trinidadian accent, was simply, "I doh care bout that." When we arrived home and I continued talking, he knelt down, looked me in the eyes, and said, "I doh care bout that. I doh love you. Hush your mouth and go wait for your mudda to come." I curled up in the corner of the couch, waiting for my mother in what felt like an eternity of confusion. All I could think was: What did I do wrong? That moment became my first core memory, harsh but formative. It taught me that love isn't always guaranteed, even from family. My grandfather was an abusive man whose anger primarily targeted my mother. Witnessing this as a child was both heartbreaking and eye-opening. In contrast, my relationship with my mother was the bedrock of my life – she was remarkable not just for her unconditional love but for her incredible strength in overcoming her difficult past. As I grew older, I developed a pattern that many of us fall into – becoming a people-pleaser and depending on others for my happiness. I made myself constantly available, responding to every notification, overcompensating when receiving help by immediately reciprocating. I felt a deep need to be a savior for those struggling to ask for help. This gave me a sense of value, so I never saw reason to say no. But over time, this search for external validation left me emotionally exhausted and insecure. I fell into relationships where I gave more than I received, trying to "fix" others while neglecting myself. This pattern of seeking validation from others is one of the most common ways we break our own hearts. When we feel incomplete, we believe that receiving love from someone else will fill the void, as if their compassion can heal us more than our own. We go to great lengths just to feel loved – but that's not love; it's dependence. We ignore our own needs to make others happy, even when it feels like betraying ourselves. That feeling of betrayal is our intuition warning us that our choices aren't aligned with our intentions. The truth is, we're not meant to look to others for our sense of completeness. When we depend on external validation, we hand over our power to people who may not understand its value. This creates a cycle where we're constantly looking outward for something that can only be cultivated from within. Our worth isn't determined by how quickly we respond to messages or how much we sacrifice for others – it comes from the relationship we build with ourselves. Learning to break this cycle requires recognizing when we're placing our happiness in someone else's hands. It means setting boundaries, honoring our own needs, and understanding that the most important relationship we'll ever have is with ourselves. When we begin to value our own company and nurture our inner world, we stop breaking our own hearts and start building a foundation of self-love that no external circumstance can shake.

Chapter 2: From Self-Sabotage to Self-Discovery

For years, I was stuck in a cycle of perfectionism that held me back from achieving the success I knew I could reach. Growing up, I was quite a handful – the early years at my first primary school were turbulent. School was my initial exposure to the wider world beyond family, and what I saw infuriated me: Why was I the only kid without a dad? Why couldn't my mom pick me up from school? These observations made me angry, manifesting as bullying behavior toward kids who had what I lacked. My behavior took such a toll on my mother that she extended her work hours, spending more on childcare just to avoid the inevitable arguments when she got home. This disruptive behavior eventually led to my exclusion from school – which, surprisingly, became the beginning of a positive shift in my life. I transitioned to Sacred Heart, a Catholic school with rigorous rules and intentional structure. For the first time, my inappropriate behavior wasn't tolerated. After getting into trouble for eating communion wafers (thinking they were crackers), my mother was called in. On the way home, she sighed and said, "Meggan, girl, this is a fresh start. Behave well, get a good first report, and there'll be a surprise waiting for you." Sensing her exhaustion, I decided to comply. The transformation was swift, and within weeks, my behavior remarkably improved. When she later picked me up with tickets to see Michael Jackson at Wembley Stadium, it planted a seed that laid the foundation for newfound confidence and heightened self-belief. As time passed, however, simply "being good" tipped into something else. Perfectionism began to consume me – a battle that partly remains with me today. This mission to become perfect stemmed from being rewarded for being anything other than my authentic self. I learned to perform and spent years beneath this disguise, struggling to develop a real relationship with my authentic self. When my extended family showed disdain toward me because of their feelings about my mother, I tried to be the "ideal child" to earn their affection. Later, scrolling through social media influencers' highlight reels made me believe I couldn't advance in my career until I matched their aesthetic. For years, I allowed this pursuit of perfection to stifle my growth, letting many opportunities pass me by. This mindset usually stems from trauma, carrying the belief that we must attain perfection to be worthy of love. Interestingly, the journey toward healing counteracts that idea. In the healing process, we're in a constant state of evolution, discovering new ways to refine ourselves while embracing our imperfections. This proves we don't have to wait for everything to be "perfect" to move forward. Life simply doesn't operate that way. The pain of missing opportunities taught me a fundamental lesson: nobody has it all figured out. We're all learning, stumbling, and growing every day. Even the people we admire are works in progress. Our idea of perfection is flawed; we measure ourselves against others without recognizing that we're all walking unique paths. We'll never find our true essence by emulating someone else. Perfection is an unattainable goal – not because of our abilities, but because it simply doesn't exist. It's a myth we desperately need to detach from. When we embrace our authentic selves and celebrate our unique qualities, we begin to flourish. This journey from self-sabotage to self-discovery isn't about becoming flawless, but about recognizing that we are already whole, already complete, just as we are.

Chapter 3: Embracing Solitude as a Path to Self-Knowledge

I thought I understood what it meant to be alone, but I didn't, until my mother passed away. Many years ago, a conversation with a friend led me to start appreciating the value of solitude. Back then, in my early 20s, my life was in disarray. I saw my peers thriving with purposeful direction while I was an unemployed university dropout struggling to find my feet. I kept myself busy with various distractions, not brave enough to face myself and my issues. When venting to my friend about craving solitude, she asked, "How much time do you actually spend by yourself?" As we listed my typical "me time" activities, it became evident that even in solitude, I was never truly alone with myself. I was constantly flirting with escapism – endless social media scrolling, Netflix binges, or long drives with no destination. I was doing anything to avoid self-confrontation, which stunted my growth and created a sense of stagnation. Through making changes, I learned that true stillness and solitude are essential for exploring the depths of our being. When we turn inward, we become aware of the whispers within. In 2020, my deepest fear became reality: my mother's cancer returned, more aggressively this time. Despite all efforts with natural remedies and private medical care, she passed away in March 2021 – the most traumatic experience of my life. For the first time, I found myself completely alone, learning to stand on my own. It was far from easy, but I had to face my grief head-on. Through previous experiences with depression, I'd learned that everything we run from still resides within us. We can never escape ourselves and our emotions; we have an innate responsibility to establish a healthy relationship with ourselves. I understand how difficult it can be to be alone – for many, it feels almost painful. Some struggle because silence amplifies thoughts they're trying to avoid; others might be naturally extroverted, gaining energy from engaging with others. But neither reason justifies avoiding solitude. There's a significant difference between solitude and loneliness. Solitude is intentional – a choice; loneliness is not. Solitude offers a sense of beauty, allowing us to exist without superficial distractions and delve deeper into self-discovery. Embracing solitude is essentially the antithesis of feeding our ego and insecurities. It encourages us to release our fixation on superficial self-importance and instead become comfortable with true self-awareness. This is why many who practice meditation regard solitude as central to their lives – it's a pathway to understanding and inner peace. Solitude retreats, when feasible, can be incredibly rewarding. Even if it's just a quiet corner at home, carving space for self-reflection can lead to profound self-knowledge. Understanding ourselves is challenging, and it's not about constant self-congratulation. Sometimes facing our truths can be unsettling. But through intentional solitude, we develop clarity. Embracing solitude during my grief meant confronting my pain head-on and living alongside it. It was about accepting the days when my heart was still broken while trusting the unfolding process. By creating space for this inner work, we allow ourselves to heal and grow in ways that constant distraction never permits. In solitude, we find not just ourselves, but the strength to carry on even when the path seems darkest.

Chapter 4: The Power of Setting Boundaries

For a long time, I'd held tightly to the belief that asking for help was a weakness. This was something I was eventually forced to confront, and I've grown to learn that, in fact, the opposite is true. I used to pride myself on being the person others could lean on, a sort of superhero, but I never extended that level of compassion to myself. In my mind, "help" was a one-way street. Yet, this perspective didn't serve me well – life has a way of humbling us. My resistance to seeking help wasn't because I'd never needed it. Throughout my life, I'd been on the receiving end of constructive assistance from many people: my mother, teachers like Mr. P. who met me halfway when I had a negative attitude toward learning, Lincoln Beckford who mentored our community after we lost a friend, and Thomas Glaser, my mother's boss who helped me see a world beyond my immediate surroundings. Their help was generously given, and I was lucky to receive it. As I embarked on self-betterment, my perspective began to shift. I realized it takes strength to ask for help or admit vulnerabilities. But the full weight of this truth didn't hit until I lost my mother. After she passed away in Saint Lucia during the pandemic, I became disoriented while stranded due to travel restrictions. The local community reached out and cared for me, their kindness becoming my anchor. When I needed to fulfill my mother's wishes to return her to Trinidad but lacked finances, my grandfather helped cover the costs. Stuck in Trinidad for a year due to closed borders, I fell into depression. Some family members I thought I could depend on used this as an opportunity to chastise me, but I found unexpected support from the local community in Marabella. One woman's story left an indelible impression – a local fisherwoman with a strong work ethic who would ration funds and work long hours to provide her daughter with a better path. She couldn't believe I was born "foreign" from a woman raised in similar surroundings to hers and told me it was dishonorable to my mother's memory to squander my days in sorrow. Her words were a wake-up call. To rebuild my life, I reached out across my network – colleagues, friends, even casual acquaintances from Instagram. A friend connected me with a therapist who presented truths I was unprepared to accept. After our session, I didn't speak to him for nine months, too consumed by destructive behavior. Yet he didn't give up, checking in sporadically with reassurance: "I'll be here when you're ready." His patience eventually helped me reach acceptance and heal. We must learn that asking for help is not a sign of weakness, nor does it mean being dependent on others – they're completely different things. Asking someone for help is courageous: you're making yourself momentarily vulnerable, showing trust and valuing their support. Being overly dependent transfers your sense of self-worth onto another person. It's healthy to seek support, but crucial to maintain independence and not rely on others for self-esteem. The former is a choice of strength, the latter a surrender of power. Once we accept that no one owes us anything, we start to appreciate those who go out of their way for us. We're not entitled to a helping hand, but we are worthy of it. Learn to accept help when it arrives and ask for it when needed. By setting boundaries around what we can handle alone and where we need support, we protect our hearts while creating space for genuine connection. This balance – knowing when to stand alone and when to reach out – becomes one of the most powerful tools in our journey toward healing and self-protection.

Chapter 5: Living with Intention in a Distracted World

It's amazing when profound moments strike us unexpectedly. One of my most transformative realizations occurred while stuck in traffic in central London. At the time, I was in a dark place, using busyness to avoid confronting my issues. I was building The Good Quote, obsessively spending hours online each day. This made me feel robotic and disconnected from the real world, overwhelmed by unhappiness. I felt no control over my life, drifting through days that seemed pointless and empty. All the love I'd felt for life was slipping away. I'd accumulated so much pain that facing myself seemed too burdensome. But I decided to start therapy regardless. During one session, I found myself in tears most of the time. As I spoke about my feelings of inadequacy and hopelessness, I realized I was keeping myself incessantly busy to avoid pain. My therapist asked when I'd last taken time to truly absorb my surroundings without distractions – not glued to a screen, but peacefully taking in the world. I was stunned to realize I couldn't recall the last time I'd simply looked up and marveled at the sky. Then a memory resurfaced: that moment in the Uber near Euston Station. I'd felt the warmth of the sun on my face and become captivated by the rich colors above. Even the driver commented, "Woah, now isn't that something to be thankful for?" As I reflected, I remembered how as a child, I would chase sunsets with my mother during evening walks. She would always be in childlike awe, playfully accusing God of showing off while giving thanks for such beauty. It made me question how, in adulthood, I'd become so engulfed in busyness that I forgot to enjoy life's simple pleasures. My therapist gave me one simple instruction: "Right Meg – this week your homework is to practice the art of aligning your attention with your intentions." This seemed impossible at first. How could I do that when I was so busy? When he asked about my morning routine, the truth hit me: I didn't really have one. Each day began with an urgent search for my phone to catch up on overnight messages, followed by mindless social media scrolling that contaminated my thoughts before I'd even formed my own. I played "Russian roulette" with my triggers, automatically flicking through content, not knowing what would come next. Time slipped away as I disconnected from myself, immersed in online worlds. This realization was a huge wake-up call. How had I made myself so accessible to others without prioritizing time with myself first? If our morning routine sets intentions for the day, how was this practice serving me? It wasn't. We often overlook the blessing of waking up to a new day – a gift not everyone receives. If you wake with intention, you discover how euphoric it can be. For artists, it's a time of heightened creativity when thoughts are at their purest. Through therapy and remembering that special moment in the taxi, I understood there was something important I could do each morning to positively impact my day: plan ahead. I created a simple routine: preparing my outfit in advance, leaving my phone on silent in another room, acknowledging the new day with gratitude through prayer, journaling my thoughts, and concluding with stretching and meditation. Though initially challenging, this routine gradually restored my sense of control and reignited my excitement for life. The more I expressed gratitude and spent quiet moments with myself, the more I believed my life had purpose again. Even if you're skeptical or have commitments from the moment you wake, you can modify this approach: instead of scrolling while waiting for the kettle to boil, look out the window; move your phone out of the bedroom; pause during work to breathe and give thanks. It's essential for our mental health to carve out time each day to be present and ground ourselves in the here and now. In a world filled with endless distractions, we have the chance to reclaim the beauty of connection by living with intention rather than reaction, aligning our attention with what truly matters to our hearts.

Chapter 6: Forgiving Others and Ourselves

In the introduction of this book, I discussed the immense strength in vulnerability – how opening ourselves up is a superpower, not a sign of weakness. In my experience, there's nothing more vulnerable than forgiving somebody for the pain they've caused you. This is what happened with my grandfather, who had directed hurtful words at me when I was a child. His reemergence into our lives was initially met with strong resistance from me. The reunion happened unexpectedly. After my mother's first battle with cancer, she had started working reduced hours. One day, while helping an elder friend with grocery shopping, she spotted my grandfather Freddie in the store aisles. She was shocked at his appearance – my grandmother, who had done everything in the house for him, had passed away years earlier, and now he looked unkempt and neglected. Despite her hesitation, her friend urged her to acknowledge him. When my mother approached, asking if he needed help, he became emotional – a man who'd shown no remorse or emotion his entire life was now completely vulnerable. Upon taking him home, my mother saw the extent of his neglect and decided to help him with weekly shopping trips. I was infuriated when she told me this plan – we'd spent most of our lives healing from his harm. I couldn't understand why she would welcome him back, arguing, "Why are you bringing him back into our space? He's just going to hurt us again." But my mother was resolute: "Meggan, you have to learn when it's time to forgive, and this is what it looks like." It took about six months for me to gradually soften my stance. Initially, I wanted nothing to do with their revived relationship, but I began to see how my mother was using the lessons from therapy to build something healthier with her father. I'd never seen a healthy relationship between them before – he was always the abuser, and she the victim. This time, she implemented clear boundaries and wouldn't tolerate misbehavior. If he behaved poorly, she'd simply leave. Surprisingly, he respected these boundaries. One day I saw him at his door looking rejuvenated, almost youthful. My mother's love had seemingly revived him. Reflecting now, it was a beautiful act of healing on her part – rebuilding a relationship from a position of self-love rather than dependence. It brought her peace in her final years and showed me the power of forgiveness in the most vivid way. It demonstrated how forgiveness can liberate not just the person being forgiven, but also settle the emotional turmoil inside the one who forgives. Over time, I also rebuilt a civil relationship with my grandfather. He was unexpectedly supportive when my mother passed away, helping financially when I needed to transport her from Saint Lucia to Trinidad during the pandemic. Later, I looked after him as his health declined – fulfilling my mother's request. This duty unexpectedly aided my own healing journey. Now in the early stages of dementia, he's beloved in his care home, bringing joy to others – a stark contrast to who he once was. I'm convinced it was my mother's act of forgiveness that sparked this transformation. One of his children forgave him, enabling him to alter his behavior and learn to give and receive love again. This story underscores the importance of forgiveness and including others in our healing process. Although everything we experience is deeply personal, we don't exist as islands. When people who have caused us harm cross our paths again, their journey becomes intertwined with ours. I'm not suggesting every transgression warrants forgiveness – some actions are unforgiveable, and some people aren't willing to rehabilitate themselves. But many are. The ability to improve ourselves, correct mistakes, evolve, and express remorse is one of our most powerful human tools. When we're on our own path of healing, extending compassion to someone else on a similar journey becomes an act of mutual liberation that can transform not just relationships, but our understanding of what it means to truly protect our hearts.

Chapter 7: Trusting the Process While Reclaiming Your Time

If there's one contradiction we all live with, it's our relationship with time. On one hand, we need to value each precious moment, avoiding wasting time on people and activities that don't serve us. On the other hand, we need patience to trust the process of healing and growth, understanding that some things simply cannot be rushed. This apparent contradiction isn't really one at all – it's about balancing urgency with patience, action with acceptance. Learning the true value of time wasn't easy for me. As a lifelong people-pleaser, I would rearrange my schedule for others, invest all my energy into helping them, often neglecting my own boundaries. I mistook selflessness for being "good" and "kind." But no one reciprocated my level of exertion, and eventually it became too much. A conversation with my mother helped me move forward: "Meggan, if you ever feel fatigued in the pursuit of helping others, then your efforts need revising. The correct way to show up is to be realistic with your capacity to give, ensuring your kindness never comes at a detriment to yourself." Her words were wise, but it took time to unlearn these habits. I understand now that helping others should align with our values, not be a means to receive validation. The significance of valuing time hit even harder after my mother passed. She had finally prioritized herself in her last six years, but I wished she had come to that conclusion earlier. These hard lessons caused me to reevaluate how I perceived and used my time, setting boundaries on how I extended myself to others. This became an act of self-love as I began to reclaim my time. There's no one-size-fits-all approach to setting boundaries. Much of my journey centered around not responding immediately to demands from my phone – not letting myself get instantly distracted by messages that interrupted my life. This had led to a distracted existence where I didn't believe I was worthy of attention and love. Learning to say "no" was crucial. Agreeing to things we don't want to do leads to resentment and exhaustion. By pausing before responding and resisting the urge to please immediately, saying "no" becomes easier over time. Through this practice, we start to see ourselves as worthy of protection; our time becomes valuable because we ourselves are valuable. Yet while reclaiming our time is essential, we must also learn patience with the healing process itself. This isn't about backtracking but rethinking our approach to patience and the time it takes for things to unfold. So many of us rush through life trying to hit certain milestones – endless holidays, perfect relationships, career achievements – only to find ourselves asking "what next?" after achieving them. This is why many experience mid-life crises – all their goals are in the past, with no clear direction forward. Life doesn't have to unfold this way. We can still live with purpose and aspirations at any age. The timelines we impose on ourselves are restrictive and can lead to feelings of inadequacy. Life isn't a race to achieve and then suddenly stop. Living richly means approaching each day with intention, cherishing every year we're blessed with, not feeling like a failure because we didn't meet arbitrary deadlines. By nurturing ourselves and staying healthy, we learn there's no need to rush. Time is precious, but that doesn't mean blazing through it – it means treasuring each moment while trusting the process of our becoming.

Summary

Throughout this journey, we've explored the many ways we break our own hearts and discovered paths toward healing and protection. From depending on others for validation to pursuing unattainable perfection, from following others' visions instead of our own to staying trapped in comfort zones, we've seen how these patterns create cycles of self-sabotage that keep us from experiencing genuine fulfillment. Yet within each challenge lies an opportunity for transformation – an invitation to return home to ourselves and reclaim the love we've been seeking externally all along. The road to healing isn't about creating a perfect, finished version of ourselves but developing awareness of our patterns and learning to nurture our hearts through life's inevitable ups and downs. It begins with recognizing our worth beyond external validation, embracing solitude as a path to self-knowledge, setting boundaries that honor our needs, and living with intention in a distracted world. As we practice forgiveness – both of others and ourselves – and learn to balance valuing our time with trusting the process, we discover that breaking free from self-destructive patterns isn't a destination but a continuous journey of growth. Each step we take toward protecting our hearts becomes not just an act of self-preservation but of profound self-love. And in that love, we find the courage to live authentically, to embrace our imperfections, and to create lives that reflect our truest desires rather than the expectations of others. This is the ultimate liberation – not freedom from pain, but freedom to experience life fully, with hearts open yet wisely protected.

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Meggan Roxanne

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