You’re allowed to miss them. Give yourself grace.
“things people don’t tell you…” — BREAKUPS (Episode Three)
“you guys broke up ages ago; why haven’t you moved on?”
It’s a question that stings more than it should, not because it’s insensitive, but because it pokes at the rawness you thought you’d buried. I went through my first heartbreak at sixteen, and like so many others, I stumbled through it blind. Just as no one teaches us how to be in a relationship, no one prepares us for how to move on from one either.
There’s no manual, no fine print, no timeline that says, “This is when it stops hurting.” What took him months took me years. Two years to unlearn three years of love. Five years of back-and-forth “Will they or won’t they.” Moving on is never as linear as people make it seem.
Grieving at your own pace means exactly that — grieving at your own pace. If it takes longer than others expect, it’s not a reflection of weakness but a testament to the love you held so dearly. There isn’t a single thread to sever when you end a relationship — there are hundreds. The songs you once shared, the lingering sensation of their touch, the quiet intimacy of baking cookies together. Each one ties you to the past, and untangling them takes time.
Society loves to romanticize the idea of “moving on,” as if it’s a sudden, magical state where you feel nothing. But the truth is, moving on isn’t about forgetting — it’s about learning to coexist with the memories. You might never forget their laugh or the way they made you feel. You don’t have to. Moving on is about making peace with the fact that they’re part of your story but no longer part of your future.
One day, you’ll stop seeing them everywhere — not because they’ve disappeared from your world but because you’ve stopped looking for them. The park where you used to sit together becomes just a park again. The library that was once “your spot” becomes just another library in the city. The memories that tethered them to every corner of your life will loosen their grip, and the weight they carried will dissipate.
Teenage love is intoxicating in its intensity and naivety — a fusion of wonder and recklessness. It’s like wandering through a forest with no map, trusting your heart to lead the way even when it doesn’t know where to go. It’s beautiful in its chaos, unforgettable in its rawness. And because it’s so all-consuming, its end feels just as profound.
Something I’ve come to understand is this: missing them and respecting your healing can coexist. You’re allowed to feel the ache of their absence without rushing to fill it with someone else. You’re allowed to remember them fondly without longing to have them back. Holding space for your emotions isn’t a sign of weakness — it’s a mark of your humanity.
Breakups force us to confront an uncomfortable truth: love doesn’t always follow logic. Even if the breakup was necessary, even if it hurt you, even if you know deep down it would never have worked, you can still miss them. And that’s okay.
So if you’re in the thick of it, give yourself grace. Let yourself cry, reminisce, and scroll through those old photos if you need to. There’s no deadline for healing, no correct way to process the loss. One day, you’ll realise that the songs, the memories, and the places no longer sting. The ache will dull, the weight will lift, and you’ll feel lighter. Not because you’ve forgotten, but because you’ve finally set yourself free.
