It’s 5 a.m on a Friday morning, and I’m woken up by the familiar ache and stretching sensation in my chest cavity.

It feels like the return of a lost friend, though—not an enemy like I had previously considered this pain to be.

I had actually forgotten it for a little while. A sort of mini reprieve from its reminder that I am still alive, am human, and can feel.

I hear the words in my head that I am about to type out on the blank screen before me in this darkened room. It is still dark out, and it reminds me of a place I knew all too well.

It’s been some time now. Not years or anything, but I would say enough time has gone by for me to notice something has shifted in and around me.

I do notice that the anger is mostly gone. It once had a tight grip around my throat, like a snake who wraps itself around its victim before squeezing all the breath and life out of you. I remember its tight noose around my neck right after it happened. I recall wondering why it chose my neck and throat area to hibernate in when it clearly could have strangled and emaciated my entire heart instead.

Looking back, I can see how it affected that part of my body. Pain and heartbreak can do that, you know. Affect your insides. But then it causes physical and sometimes excruciating pain as well. Especially when you decide that it’s too much and you choose to ignore it. It begins to grow like a thorny weed and cuts you from the inside out. It’s only when we dig it out by the roots that it can allow us to view the growth within. I can see now that it got my throat because it wanted to speak out.

The pain and grief were much bigger than I could bear. I wasn’t expecting it to hurt quite so much, I suppose. Everyone gets hurt, of course. That is part of life as humans that we all must endure.

I remember wanting to tell everyone who would listen about all of the suffering you had brought into my life. I wanted to get my emotions out onto paper like all the podcasts and blogs suggest you do. And it did help. After all, I didn’t want to lash out at anyone around me who still loved me. They weren’t responsible for my grief.

I see now that you weren’t either. It was me who did this.

I typed some things that may not have been the most loving. But I was hurting, and the hurt kind of just spilled over because it had nowhere else to go. It was too big and too heavy for me to carry on my own. I tried to get help, but I knew right away that nobody was going to save me from this important event in my life. I was the only one who could do that.

I want to thank you now this time. Instead of the previous bashing, blaming, sobbing, and temper tantrum behaviours of the past, the fog has lifted just enough to see things more clearly now.

It’s like I have been given a gift. More than one. I have the gifts of clarity, the desire to change my entire path, the gift of knowing how to handle situations in which I am uncomfortable, how to listen better to my inner knowing, and, most important of all, the gift of wanting to return to myself.

I know women say that all the time: “He broke my heart but I learned so many things about myself!”

It’s true for me now. Before, it was full of darkness, pain, and self-loathing. Today, it’s now transmuted as if by magic into forgiveness of self and you, wanting to purge the things that feel heavy in my work and spiritual path, newfound determination to be as joyful as possible, to remember that I am stronger than I had previously believed myself to be, and to keep going with a fervor none have ever seen.

When I say thank you, I want others to know it’s not in the energy of sarcasm, hate, or anger. Thank you for everything you did for me. You gave me space to see the pain I have caused others and you. You basically handed me the key to unlocking the secret of my own universe where opportunities are free-flowing to me now: appreciation. When you were around, I had little of it.

Now that I have had time to heal, feel, and think, I am beyond grateful for the path we embarked upon. It still matters that it ended more negatively than I would have liked it to, but I am so glad it happened. It sparked so many positive friendships. It created dreams and goals. It embraced destinies and brought families closer together again.

I didn’t think I would ever get to this place. Yet, surprisingly, here I am. The pain returns once in a while to serve as a reminder of how hard I love. When the walls are down, I love hard. When the walls are up, nobody gets inside. But you did. You got inside and were the catalyst of change within.

Even though it almost killed me to watch you leave, I want to say thank you for giving me the space to see how far out of alignment I had gotten. Once things were in place as the universe had orchestrated, it was time to go.

It takes time for the pain to do its thing. For the energy of heartbreak is something we are all given to transform our entire beings for the greatest good. It allows us time to look within, sit in the darkness, and rediscover the light once more.

Thank you for being in my life. And then thank you for leaving it.

I wish for you all of the gifts, love, and positive forward movement, all of the forgiveness and joy that I have found here now.

You will never see this letter. This note is for me, for others to read and feel the energy of what can occur when you are sitting in the sad. It may show others how to get up out of bed right now instead of hiding in their darkened bedroom like I was. It may get somebody in the shower or maybe eventually inspire them to discover the gifts the emotions can provide.

Whatever the outcome, I hope you find you again. The you that you came here to be.

Heartbreak is a gift to yourself. I can’t wait until you open it.