Your Broken Heart Isn’t What You Think It Is

I left the house after dark yesterday, alone and without a plan. Just me and my broken heart. 

I live at the top of the hill, in the central district of San Miguel de Allende, Mexico. After closing my front door, it takes me 7 minutes to be in the Jardin, the heart of the city, where the beautifully lit Parroquia stands in pink-stoned elegance. Mariachis and towering mojigangas (these are the giant dolls, created here in San Miguel) always gather at her feet, filling the square with music and movement.

The Parroquia and the Jardin after dark.

After a little sunset yoga and good conversation with a new friend, I was left alone with my broken heart, my state these days after an unexpected breakup. I needed to walk it out. A broken heart doesn’t like to be left alone, not right away anyway. Of course, it must be alone to sort it all out in the end, but it craves the company of others before it can walk by itself.  It needs distraction. 

Sunset view of the paroquia from my house.

Walking around all week with a broken heart has given me some revelations about what it really means to sit with that emotion. That in the breaking and mending of that delicate heart space, lies the seed of greater strength, more profound intuition, and the increased ability to mend all kinds of broken things, not just my own heart.

Right now, I walk in the brokenness. Every step brings the crunching of things that have burst and crumbled into a thousand pieces. Everywhere I go these days, I carry a bag of broken pottery in a burlap sack, as easily as one can carry a bag of heart shards without causing too much inconvenience.

Excuse me, but I’ll need an extra chair at the table for my bag of shards. Thanks for understanding.

And because this is a small town, where my lover and I had walked around together, I find memories of us everywhere I go. There is the market where we had breakfast, there is the little Italian restaurant where we had dinner, there is the ice cream store where we tried new flavors, and there is the park bench in the Jardin where we ate our ice cream and I whispered in his ear. The ear I loved to nibble and the one that listened so sweetly to me talk too much.

My broken heart insisted on getting the same ice cream flavor (chocolate hazelnut, in case you’re wondering) and sitting on the same park bench. This brought tears but it couldn’t be helped and it had to be done. Every memory must be relived and reevaluated. They must be rolled around like rocks in a tumbler until they are as smooth as glass, so that when I pull one out, it doesn’t hurt to run my fingers over the surface. 

Here is the Jardin in San Miguel and the spot where I sat reflecting and eating chocolate hazelnut ice cream.

You may think, as many do, that the pain behind a broken heart is all about the person or event that caused it. I thought that, too, at first. My emotion was so intense I began to doubt my own sanity. How could I feel so deeply for someone I hadn’t known very long. Get a grip, Holli. 

But I have had some revelations about this state.  

The first is that it doesn’t matter how long you’ve known someone. Every connection with another person has it’s own energy signature, intensity, and significance. Some people cross our paths for a reason, some for a season, and some for a lifetime. 

The second truth I’ve arrived at is this:  whatever causes the heart to break is only the catalyst, and what comes bursting forth from that magnificent organ in our chest, the gatekeeper between the coolness of our mind and the fire in our belly, is all the heartbreak we’ve ever felt, rushing forth like a river breaking a damn.

When your heart is broken, it is broken open. And as those emotions from our past gush forth, we may feel like we’re drowning in the intensity of the feelings that arise. We may think that these feelings are coming from this event in this time, but that’s not the case. All heartbreaks are linked, you see. When you feel one, you also feel the echoes of all those that have come before it, like a symphony reverberating in your chest.

This is what makes heartbreak a singular emotion, unlike anger or frustration or anything else, really. Heartbreak, as the name implies, is the only one that can break us open, if we are brave enough to let it. 

And it is in the repair that we become better, more beautiful versions of ourselves, if that is what we endeavor to do. It’s an opportunity for our next iteration. An upgrade, if you will. 

When I closed my door and walked into town last night, I walked without stopping, allowing my heart to lead the way. I walked straight to an upstairs bar—the Rain Dog Lounge—and bumped into a friend in the doorway. I don’t know why my heart chose this place. I didn’t really want to be there and didn’t plan on staying long. 

My friend turned to me and told me she was just thinking about me and that I’d been on her mind all day. My heart, broken and open, had led me straight to her. It turns out that we had something between us that needed mending. Her eyes watered as she told me what was on her heart and I shared what was on mine, too, allowing us to repair what had been broken just a moment before.

She then asked if I was staying. After looking around for a moment, I realized I had done what I came to do and was ready to take my bag of shards home and go to bed.

Church in San Miguel de Allende, on my walk back home.

And so I discovered another revelation: a broken heart must be put to work, because mending and healing are what it craves most of all.

Walking back up the hill to my house, my burlap sack felt a little lighter. I had put my wide-open heart to good use and in the process had eased my own burden, just a little.

Here I am working hard on this blog post, at my favorite coffee shop in San Miguel, Cafe Amuleto. One of the reasons I like this cafe is because men like to gather here. Sometimes, I just need a good dose of male energy. Don’t we all?