Staying Open to Love After Heartbreak: Is it Possible?
Lately I have been in deep conversation with my therapist around finding love post-divorce.
After getting divorced in 2020, I really never thought I’d be open to love again. I was certain that Josh was the only man I’d ever love. Certain that I’d given him all my love, and that I’d have no more love to give even if I was open to it again. Certain that he was the best love I’d ever receive, and to hope for something as good as—let alone better than—would be a hopeless mission.
I also had no interest in feeling heartbroken again. I had no interest in the time and effort required to really get to know someone intimately—let alone allow someone to know me.
One day this May, I woke up and thought, I want a partner.
It was an odd thought, and came seemingly from nowhere. This is strange, I thought. I really never thought I’d feel this way again.
While there were many days I longed for love and companionship, those longings still belonged to a box marked “Josh.” They occupied a house and rooms filled with memories of us—fantasies of a love that was gone, hope for a vestibule to take me back in time, to take us back in time, to a place where love once lived.
My longing for love was rooted in the familiarity of him, and us. And the idea of someone new occupying those rooms, or even building a new house with empty rooms to furnish seemed daunting.
What would the house look like? Where would it sit? And who would I want to build it with me?
That morning in May when I thought, I want a partner, I felt this desire facing forward. I felt the longing pointing towards an open, empty space—a vacant lot to plan a home. A space in time ahead of me with endless possibility.
When I told my therapist about this, he said, “That’s great. So, what do you want?”
“I want intimacy. I want connection. I want respect, passion, and admiration. I want someone who truly sees me, knows me, and wants to understand me. I want a partner who is self-aware, smart, curious, playful, and compassionate. Someone with an open heart and mind but still has strong values and interests. Someone who lifts me up, is not afraid to celebrate me out loud, is proud of me and us, and wants the world to know I’m their partner.”
Struggling to answer the question, “what do you want?” Try my Life Path Awakening Journal!
“That’s great,” he said again. “So what’s the problem?”
I laughed. The way he knew there was a “but” coming before I uttered it.
“Well, I just don’t know how to find that. I feel like men only want one thing from me—even when I set boundaries or am clear about what I want, I feel like they just want sex from me. So I struggle to trust them enough to get beyond the surface level part where we are just getting to know each other. I’m still really scared that if I’m super upfront from the beginning I’ll get rejected.”
“You will,” he said. “So what’s the problem?”
Jesus, man.
“I guess, I guess I’m just still really scared.”
I am still very afraid of rejection.
Afraid that if I’m clear about what I want, someone will refuse to give it to me, and then I’ll find out how unworthy I am of love. I’ll find out that I’m really not good enough for someone to care about—that I’m not worth the depth, time, or commitment I desire. And so as long as I don’t ask for that, I don’t have to find out how unlovable I am.
Fuck. I cried writing that.
It’s funny because I told my therapist,
“It’s not that I don’t believe I’m worthy of love or that I’m more than just a body—I have done a shit ton of work to feel good about who I am, and truthfully I’ve always had really high standards with love and relationships. For some reason it’s the one place I’ve always valued myself incredibly high. But for some reason, when it comes to the actual opening up part—the beginning part before someone knows me, I have very little faith or trust that the person across the table from me genuinely wants to be the person I deserve. And in some twisted way, I feel like they have to prove it before I offer them any shred of me.”
I did this with Josh. He showed interest in me right away when we met, and I ignored it. I was certain it was all a ploy to get in my pants.
How could this attractive, smart, curious man actually want to get to know me? Surely he has an agenda.
I was stand-offish and closed for weeks before I finally let my walls down. Even then, I remember him saying, “Rach, I know you don’t believe it, but I really want to know you. You’ve got some tough walls, but I’m gonna get past them.”
I loved this about Josh—he wanted to know me, and he kept trying even when wounded and scared Rachel cowered in fear.
To read more about my divorce, read my memoir, “Where the River Flows.” Chapter one is free to read.
Now that I’m interested in partnership and love again, I feel this same standard of effort beneath the surface. And as I told my therapist, I’m not sure how much of it is a healthy association with my worth and knowing very clearly what I want and don’t want, versus a wounded part of self that prevents me from being vulnerable and receiving love.
Because as much as I believe I am worthy of love and am clear on what I want, I also know that I operate from a deep place of protection, rather than connection. And as much as I preach the importance of a healthy balance between protecting and connecting, I still err on the side of protection. I still operate from a fearful, wounded place that unconsciously directs me towards self-protection, rather than a trusting, open space that could direct me towards connection.
This is the balance I’m trying to strike, now:
How can I be open to connection while staying true to my heart’s desire? How can I operate from a place of curiosity, trust, and optimism and still act wisely, safely, and with integrity?
The answer, as always, is simply that.
To find both/and. To continue the practices available to me that wire my nervous system towards connection and feeling safe to be open, while being clear about what I do and do not tolerate to maintain feelings of safety in my relationships.
I also realized that even though I know what I want, I’m not acting in the ways that I want a potential partner to act.
Because I’m still afraid of rejection, I’m not being vulnerable. Because I’m still afraid of rejection, I’m not communicating my wants.
I’m still operating from my fear-based assumptions around what they want, and as a result I’m saying that I’m being open and curious, but really I’m being silent and submissive. I say I’m being trusting and optimistic, but really I’m being careless and risky.
Having an open heart doesn’t mean omitting my needs. Being unattached to an outcome doesn’t mean being unintentional with the entrance.
Opening myself to love, and to love that I want to create consciously, means being deeply clear and connected to what I desire, communicating it, and remaining optimistic and having faith that there could be a glorious outcome. Its about having discernment at each step along the way and adjusting if the relational experience is moving with my desires, values, and sense of safety or against. Its about holding the vision and trusting in its possibility while remaining steadfast in my self-respect.
Its not total abandonment of self in service of careless optimism, nor is it holding my heart so close that no one can enter.
As always, I discover, its a both/and.
XX
Rachel
Feeling lost in life?
Try my Life Path Awakening journal!
If you’re on the path of discovering what you want or who you want to be post-heartbreak, I’ve made a guided journal designed to help you get really clear on your future.
The Life-Path Awakening Journal has guided prompts to facilitate deep self-knowing around who you want to be and what you want for your future.