There are no people alive who haven’t had to deal with the loss of love, yet somehow I have seldom seen anyone who has actually gotten over it, fully.
It is also hard to find actual advice among all the “Time heals all wounds” bullshit that is popularized. I’ve done a lot of inner work. But still, like many others, I get ambushed by regret while driving, pooping, or waiting in line at the supermarket.
If you are not ready to break down, you are not ready to move on.
Here’s my take on how the path to actually moving on looks like through the lens of introsync.
Destroy Yourself Mentally
Grief is the cost of love. It fucking sucks, but it will keep following you unless you face it head-on, and there is nothing clean or dignified about this process.
You can rationalize all day, loop “I will get over this” as long as you like, but if you do not break down and face the inner storm, it will keep patterning your life as an emotional parasite.
If you don’t destroy yourself mentally —
if you cling to what was —
you risk calcifying in fantasy.
Real healing looks like madness at first.
Grief doesn’t whisper; it fucking screams.
It drags your soul out of bed, empties your chest, rewrites your
thoughts with loss-shaped ink.
The only way through is to let yourself be ruined —
not forever, but long enough for your old identity to collapse and something truer to emerge.
This isn’t about spiraling into despair, but letting the false scaffolding collapse. You have to die to what you were pretending to be.
That’s the only way something honest can grow in its place.
Accept That It Happened
Ever found yourself looking at your memories like a movie and commenting on it? Screaming at it? Yet it never changes.
You keep seeing your mistakes over and over again, day by day.
You blame them, yourself, you miss what was and keep telling yourself you can handle it and move on. And then, the next day, the same feedback loop continues until you cannot take it anymore.
You want it to stop, you want to move on, but you don’t know how.
Grief plays your past on repeat like a scratched DVD.
Same scene.
Same regrets.
The same helpless commentary until you scream at the screen —
but it never changes.
Memory isn’t a window you can climb back through.
It’s a mirror that forces you to face your powerlessness,
and your need to let go of control of the narrative.
Mutually toxic relationship? You were a fucking asshole — and so were they.
Were you abused? You didn’t know how to claw out.
Happens to the best of us.
They died? So will you. It all fucking sucks. Loss SUCKS.
But it can be dealt with if you choose to start accepting that you lost.
You can do everything perfectly, make all the best decisions, and still lose.
Everything that happened did in fact happen, whether you like it or not.
Best to accept everything.
Why the fuck do we always try to sugarcoat this?
Understand What Happened
Take the time to remember and relive what happened as an observer.
We all tend to justify everything we do, even our mistakes.
Consider yourself as someone else in the situations that haunt you.
What changes? Everything. Because now you see yourself how anyone else would.
Forget all you think and know about ethics, morality, opinion — everything. Start tracing the pattern that led to the loss and do it with relentless honesty and curiosity.
You’ve lost a piece of your identity, and that shit needs to be fixed.
Identity is like a LEGO structure. When a piece breaks off, it hurts —
but it’s better to dismantle it with intention than to wait for someone else to patch the gaps.
You can never outrun causality.
It’s the master loop we’re all caught in —
Samsara, karma, recursion, feedback.
But it’s not a prison if you learn its rhythm.
Trace it.
Map it.
Convert the loops into wisdom.
Every scar has a source.
Find it.
Understand it.
That’s how you stop it from owning you.
Every pattern you trace, every causal thread you uncover, is a step toward re-syncing your inner world with reality as it is, not as you wish it were.
Forgive Them and Yourself
Yeah.
They abused you? Forgive them. You abused them? Forgive yourself. But fucking learn from it, or you’ll keep repeating the same patterns.
You can never undo anything you’ve done, but you can change how you acted in similar circumstances.
You might feel like shit, worthless, but that can change.
The mind is like weather, all thoughts are like clouds, all negative emotions
like storms. But even the strongest storms pass.
Forget the idea that forgiveness comes after justice or fucking vengeance. It rarely does.
They’re probably not thinking about you.
So why the hell are you still thinking about them?
Forgiveness isn’t for them. It’s for you.
It isn’t letting go —
it’s setting yourself free.
Release yourself, and letting go will follow.
Forgiveness is how you stop living in someone else’s unfinished story.
Let Go
Take the lessons, happiness, joy with you, leave all else behind.
Use the lessons in future encounters.
The baby falls and keeps trying. That’s us.
Overgrown babies until the day we die —
learning to walk again every time something shatters us.
The memories will return, but their hold weakens once you face the worst, learn the pattern, and forgive.
Letting go doesn’t mean forgetting. It means remembering without bleeding. And that’s when you’re free.
The baby becomes the walker,
not only because it must, but it does not give up.
The storm becomes the sky, for it was never anything else.
And the memory? Just a scar that no longer aches, a tattoo of the mind.
And so, we move.
Conclusion
You will see the memories again.
I will never forget the things I regret. Neither will you.
But what we can do is move on, learn, change.
No matter how I try, I can’t find the perfect words to convey how dealing with regret and loss has been one of the hardest challenges of my life.
But every time I see someone growing older alone —
every time I meet a cynic, or someone who’s quietly given up —
I understand, I feel it, I know why.
And I know we’ve failed to pass on the skills of inner work.
We summarize it.
We slap a band-aid on it.
But we haven’t taught it.
We haven’t explained it.
We can’t offer closure with nice words and good intent —
and we have to start being honest about it.
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