So, you just got dumped. Or maybe you did the dumping. Doesn’t matter—you’re still lying in bed, clutching a pint of ice cream like it’s a flotation device in the Sea of Emotional Devastation. Maybe you’ve already Googled, “How long does it take to get over an ex?” and now you’re spiraling because some smug psychology site told you it’s “half the length of the relationship.” Excuse you, but who came up with that nonsense? The heartbreak Grim Reaper?
Well, grab your tissues, your wine, and your coping playlist titled Songs That Hurt Too Much, because we’re about to dive into the messy, snarky, wonderfully awkward science of letting go—and why missing your ex doesn’t mean you’re broken. It just means your brain is throwing a very inconvenient tantrum.
Chapter 1: Your Brain on Love (Or: Why You’re Basically Addicted to That Walking Red Flag)
Let’s start with a little neuroscience. Romantic love isn’t just butterflies and couple selfies. It’s a full-on chemical rave in your brain. Dopamine? Check. Oxytocin? Check. Serotonin suppression? Oh hell yes.
That euphoric high you felt around your ex wasn’t your imagination—it was your brain’s reward system getting drunk on dopamine. Falling in love lights up the same part of your brain that activates when cocaine is involved. So congratulations! You weren’t just in love—you were a temporary junkie.
And what happens when the supply gets cut off?
Withdrawal.
Missing an ex isn’t just nostalgia—it’s detox. Your dopamine levels crash, your cortisol (stress hormone) spikes, and your prefrontal cortex, the part of your brain that’s supposed to help you make good decisions, basically goes on vacation. Which is why suddenly texting, “I miss us,” at 3 a.m. seems like a fantastic idea. Spoiler: It’s not.
Chapter 2: The Grief Buffet (Now Serving Rejection, Regret, and Reruns of Your Most Cringe Moments)
Letting go is grief. But unlike actual death where society lets you wear black and cry into casseroles, breakups are weird. People expect you to bounce back after a couple sad Instagram posts and one empowerment haircut.
But your brain doesn’t care about social norms—it’s still stuck in the denial-bargaining loop, replaying old memories like a bad Netflix subscription.
You mourn:
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The potential of who you two could have been.
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The identity you built together.
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The shared Spotify playlists you now have to skip past like they’re emotional landmines.
Grief is non-linear. One day you’re fine. The next, you smell a cologne that reminds you of them and suddenly you’re crying in a Walgreens. Totally normal. Slightly tragic. But normal.
Chapter 3: Nostalgia Is a Liar and Your Brain Is Complicit
You remember the good times. The inside jokes. The forehead kisses. That spontaneous trip to Asheville. You know what you don’t remember?
The fact that they never replaced the toilet paper roll.
The way they refused to acknowledge your birthday but somehow never forgot their fantasy football draft.
Nostalgia is selective memory dressed in rose-colored glasses with a penchant for gaslighting. Your brain loves a good montage. But guess what? You’re not in a rom-com. You’re in a recovery arc, and your ex was not the quirky soulmate—just the plot device.
Chapter 4: The Myth of Closure (And Other Relationship Fairytales We Tell Ourselves)
Let’s talk about “closure.” That sacred unicorn of breakup mythology. Everyone thinks they need it. “I just need to talk to them one more time for closure,” you say, as if your ex suddenly became emotionally fluent.
Here’s the deal: Closure is usually code for I want to feel less like garbage about this. And that’s understandable. But expecting a Hallmark moment from someone who couldn’t even remember your coffee order is ambitious.
Sometimes the most honest closure is realizing you deserve better. No conversation required. Just blocked numbers, muted stories, and the grace of silence.
Chapter 5: Time Doesn’t Heal All Wounds, But It Makes Them Less Cringe
There’s that saying, “Time heals all wounds.” Cute. Very Pinterest. But also, time mostly just helps your brain stop treating your ex like an unsolved Rubik’s cube of emotion.
What really heals? Time + intention.
Here’s what science says helps:
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Distraction: Not in the “get under someone to get over someone” way (though hey, no judgment), but in the “develop hobbies, touch grass, re-learn your own damn identity” kind of way.
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Cognitive reframing: This fancy phrase just means looking back and telling yourself a more accurate story, i.e., “Wow, I confused bare minimum affection for compatibility. Yikes.”
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Social support: Vent to your friends. Cry on your mom. Talk to your cat. Just stop trying to process it all alone in your head.
Healing is slow because your brain is recalibrating. That’s not weakness—it’s science.
Chapter 6: The Science of Obsessing and Why Unfollowing Isn’t Petty, It’s Healthy
You think you’re being mature by still following them on social media. Spoiler: You’re not. You’re torturing yourself with curated illusions.
Every story they post? A dopamine-triggering minefield. Every smiling photo? A chance for your brain to whisper, “See? They’re totally fine without you. Maybe it was your fault.”
Block. Mute. Unfollow. Not out of spite, but out of self-preservation. Because your brain—desperate for closure and addicted to patterns—will analyze those pixels like it’s running a CIA operation.
Cut off the data. Starve the algorithm. Let your mind detox.
Chapter 7: Phantom Ex Syndrome (Yes, That’s a Thing I Just Made Up)
Ever think you saw them in public, only to realize it was just a barista with similar hair and none of the emotional baggage? That’s Phantom Ex Syndrome™. It's when your brain starts projecting your former partner into every stranger, song lyric, and oddly-timed YouTube ad.
Why?
Because your attachment system is still online, like a Wi-Fi signal desperately trying to reconnect. The good news? The signal weakens over time. The bad news? Sometimes your brain does that thing where it plays a mental slideshow of their face right when you’re trying to sleep. Rude.
Chapter 8: When Letting Go Feels Like Letting Yourself Down
Sometimes the hardest part isn’t missing them—it’s missing the version of you that existed with them.
Maybe they saw parts of you no one else did. Maybe they made you feel seen in a way that felt sacred. And now? You feel like you lost not just a person, but a mirror.
Here’s the kicker: That version of you? Still there. Still worthy. Still whole.
They didn’t complete you. They complimented you, badly, like a Target knockoff of intimacy. You weren’t a half-soul looking for your missing puzzle piece. You were a damn mosaic already.
Chapter 9: Rebounds, Rage, and Red Flags
We all process loss differently. Some go full monk mode, journaling by candlelight. Others download six dating apps and try to erase pain with meaningless flirtations. Still others spiral into existential rage, convinced they’ll die alone surrounded by cats and Uber Eats bags.
All valid.
Just remember: A rebound is not a remedy. It’s a distraction with hormones.
If you’re not careful, you’ll recreate the same dynamic with someone new because your brain is lazy and your attachment style is throwing darts at your love life like a drunken toddler.
Heal first. Flirt later. Your future self will thank you.
Chapter 10: Missing Them Doesn’t Mean You Should Be With Them
Here’s the trap: You miss them. You ache for them. You dream about them. So they must be the one, right?
Wrong.
Missing someone is not the same as being meant for someone. Your nervous system is just doing its best to regulate after a major shock. Of course you miss the familiarity. Of course you crave their voice or scent or the weird way they made pasta.
But were you happy? Were you safe? Were you seen?
Love is not supposed to feel like emotional whiplash and stomach ulcers. It’s supposed to feel like peace with a pulse.
Conclusion: The Comeback Is Always Better Than the Collapse
Letting go takes time because your brain, your heart, your hormones, your habits—they all got wrapped around another person. You didn’t just lose them. You lost the future you imagined with them, the routines you built around them, and the illusion that they’d never leave.
But here’s the truth: You’re not meant to get over it overnight. You’re not supposed to bounce back with fake smiles and rebound hookups and vague Instagram captions about “growth.”
You’re supposed to sit with it. Feel it. Learn from it. And eventually—eventually—you’ll stop checking your phone. You’ll stop flinching when someone says their name. You’ll even laugh again, real laughs, the kind that don’t end in tears.
You don’t have to pretend you’re fine.
You just have to promise that one day, you will be.
And when you are, you’ll look back and think, “Damn. I really missed them? I must’ve been high on oxytocin.”
P.S.
If you’re tempted to text your ex after reading this… reread Chapter 4. Then go hydrate. Then block them.
Science says so.
And frankly, so do I.