To love and lose deeply is a superpower
When I was twelve, I burned the side of my hand reaching into the toaster. It left a small scar. Five years later, when I was seventeen, I felt heartbroken for the first time. It left a different kind of wound, one that didn’t show but hurt just as much.
With the toaster, I didn’t swear off toast forever, I just learned to be more careful next time. But with heartbreak, I told myself to forget and move on instantly. I tried—really tried—to push all the emotion down and “stop caring,” but I found that only prolonged the healing process. How is it that I gave myself more grace over a minor burn than a broken heart? It turns out a breakup activates the same areas of the brain that respond to physical pain. So “heartbreak” isn’t just poetic, it’s actually scientific.
For every girl who wants to hold on to someone—photos, songs, birthday cards, text messages—there’s a good friend telling her not to. Just move on, they say. Leave it be. And maybe that girl listens, pretending she’s fine for a night to dodge the inevitable crash later, or maybe she thinks, deep down, that she’ll never completely move on.
Breakups have become so normalized that the default advice is always: don’t. Don’t text, don’t speak, don’t even think about it. And I get it, sometimes pretending you’re over it feels easier than facing the flood of memories and experiences that come rushing back. I’ll admit, I’ve told my own friends to go no-contact, to stay strong, to avoid rekindling something unhealthy. What I don’t tell them is to just move on, because I don’t think it’s that simple. I think noticing how a love changes us makes the heartbreak worth it, and is more meaningful than forgetting it all together.
My parents always tell me that “loving deeply” is both my superpower and my weakness. It’s what lets me build real connection, trust and meaning, but it also means a small part of me will always care for the people I’ve loved. Loving deeply has brought some of the most beautiful moments in my life, but also some of the loneliest—when that connection is lost, the space it leaves behind feels enormous.
Over time, I’ve realized it’s far more meaningful to think about why something ended and what it taught me, rather than forcing myself to erase it. After all, after a little reflection I eventually learned not to stick my hand carelessly in the toaster. I’m not saying anyone should hold on to something that’s over, but healing doesn’t require deleting every photo, blocking their number, or pretending it never mattered. I believe there’s a way to honor what once was without clinging to it.
As I write this, a sophomore in college, still learning what love really is, I can only speak from my own experience and from watching my friends figure it out too, but I think this will always hold true: I will never completely move on from anyone I’ve loved. Not because I want to go back, but because every person I’ve loved has changed me.
Whether it’s the resilience I found in healing, the strength it took to walk away, the standards I’ve set for the future or the things I’ve learned to never tolerate again, each love has shaped me. And beyond romance, my understanding of friendship has evolved too. A true friend is the one who shows up for it all, the fun girls’ nights out, the middle-of-the-night phone calls and the quiet moments when you have nothing left to give. The kind who invites you into their joy even when you’re not ready to feel it yourself. I may never fully move on or forget, but I will always carry it with me.
Just as the scar on my hand reminds me to be careful in the kitchen, let the ache of a breakup remind you of your capacity to love, to care and to learn. Allow yourself to reach for connection again, like a piece of toast, and remember that feeling, even when it hurts, is what makes us all human. Let the loneliness create space for growth and independence, and don’t force yourself to just move on. Love changes us, and maybe that’s the whole point.