Ever notice how some of the most brilliant women in history also had the messiest love lives? From one of my favourite writers, Sylvia Plath, to Zelda Fitzgerald (whom I am just now really getting into), their hearts were often in ruins, the type of love that makes me glad I’m single. But, I have to acknowledge that their best work came from that very pain. This got me curious about their history, and how healthy love doesn’t seem to be achievable for a lot of genius artists. What is it about heartbreak that seems to make their creativity soar? What is it about love and pain that makes us want to write more than when we are bursting with joy? Why are all of my favourite writers so sad? What does that say about me?
This Valentine’s Day, I want to dive into the drama of love, genius, and why sometimes the greatest art comes from the greatest heartbreak.
Zelda Fitzgerald & F. Scott Fitzgerald
Zelda was witty, sharp, creatively untamed and, unfortunately, also married to one of the most fragile egos in literary history.
Scott Fitzgerald may have been a literary genius, but he also plagiarized Zelda’s diary for his own work, dismissed her writing attempts, and actively discouraged her from becoming an author. Zelda even once sent out a short story of hers to a magazine under Scott’s name — because it was likely that she wouldn’t be published otherwise. He was furious and accused her of trying to compete with him. Her genius and her love could not exist simultaneously, something always faltered. And that something was Scott — she was just too good, and he couldn’t stand it.
Sylvia Plath & Ted Hughes
If passion and destruction ever had a poster couple, it was Sylvia Plath and Ted Hughes. They had the kind of love story that belonged in a novel, and that’s basically what happened.
Sylvia was magnetically drawn to Ted and his poetry — their connection instant and intense. Sylvia poured both her love and heartbreak into her poetry and created some of the most raw and haunting work I have ever read. She went through so much alone and seemed to be in constant suffering until her passing.
“Yes, there is joy, fulfillment and companionship – but the loneliness of the soul in its appalling self-consciousness is horrible and overpowering.” (The Unabridged Journals of Sylvia Plath).
And Ted even went on to edit her work and tried to control her legacy after her death. However, Sylvia’s words outlived their love, their marriage, and even him.
Frida Kahlo & Diego Rivera
Frida Kahlo’s love for Diego Rivera was incredibly fierce and incredibly messy. Diego was older, established, and known as a womanizer when they met. And yet, Frida fell extremely hard.
Their marriage was filled with artistic obsession, politics, and countless affairs on both sides. Diego cheated constantly (including with Frida’s sister), while Frida had her own string of lovers, including a few women, and several political figures.
Despite everything, Frida once said, “I suffered two grave accidents in my life. One was the trolley, and the other was Diego. Diego was by far the worst.”
And yet, their love, however painful, fueled some of Frida’s greatest work. Love made her suffer — but it also made her paint.
The Pain in Writing
The inspiration for this topic actually came from one of my favourite shows: The Midnight Gospel on Netflix. It’s a masterpiece, in my opinion, and it discusses so many concepts about spirituality, accepting death, grief, drugs — with a beautiful and surreal animation style. I was watching the second episode recently and found myself reflecting on how pain and love influence our writing. This episode guest stars an author named Anne Lamott, who talks about how a lot of her greatest works were done through grief of losing loved ones. She mentioned how she had fallen into this cycle of believing that her work would only be good if she was in constant pain. Like there was no chance in the universe that joy and good writing could co-exist.
And I think this theme is true for a lot of people. I feel like everyone has a friend who seems to be in a constant relationship loop of falling in love and getting hurt, rinse and repeat — who doesn’t take your advice and seems to get their heart broken constantly. And it makes me consider that perhaps these relationships define their life, these relationships are how they become interesting or how they believe they are forced to exist in the universe. What is their life without love, what is their novel without that pain?
And as Valentine’s Day rolls around, it’s hard not to think about the women who gave everything to love and got nothing but ruins in return. Because the truth is, pain can fuel brilliance — but it can also consume it. Sylvia Plath didn’t just write through her suffering; it swallowed her whole. For every woman who turned heartbreak into art, there’s another whose story ended before she could.
Maybe I am being a little too reflective during Valentine’s Day — a holiday that’s supposed to be light, joyous, and about eating chocolate. But I think a great lesson to take away from history is that love and pain can sharpen us, but we can’t let it be the only thing that shapes us. That brilliance doesn’t have to come from suffering alone. And that there’s no harm in letting ourselves end the cycle. I will read happy poetry too guys, there’s genuinely not enough of it.
I think reading about pain tends to be more enticing to people, allowing us to relate and connect with the angst others feel. But it’s a vicious habit, to balance our self-worth or talent on “Who’s suffering is the most interesting?”
I challenge you this Valentine’s Day, whether you’re single or in a relationship, to stop romanticizing pain. Let yourself feel things, but don’t treat heartbreak like it’s a competition or proof of depth. Love doesn’t have to be tragic to be real, and suffering doesn’t make you more interesting. So instead of measuring your worth by how much you’ve been hurt, ask yourself: Who could you be if you let yourself heal?
Being brilliant and heartbroken is one thing. But being brilliant, surviving, and thriving? That’s something history hasn’t seen enough of.