What to Do With a Broken Heart

Don’t Fight It. Nourish It.

Every day, I sit and watch the puppies in the park. The old me — he would have laughed scornfully — what a waste of time! But I’d venture to say it might be the most instructive thing I do.

I learn something new every day. The puppies, you see, throw themselves whole-heartedly into whatever it is that they do. They meet someone new — yip!! — all enthusiasm. The person they’re attached to leaves, just to get a coffee — yelp — they’re all sadness and grief. They’ve walked too long, it’s too hot — and they just stop — time for a carry. How funny. How sweet.

Because we’re not like that, are we? Us humans. We are the polar opposite. Whatever we do, wherever we are, however much we try not to be — we remain divided. Your best friend falls in love — how happy you are for them — yet there is still that tiny part of you that throbs with envy. Your cousin gets that prized job — how wonderful! — and yet part of you chafes. Your sister wins that accolade — you embrace her — and part of you burns with shame. Funny, isn’t it? Just examine it in your own life. Have you ever really been undivided, even for a moment?

Wherever and whenever we are happy — and it is a mistake to think that any of this is happiness, but we will get to that — there is always in us a drop of sorrow. Of anger. Of frustration. Of sadness. We are divided in this deep and profound way — division is the essence of us.

And that is what it means to have a broken heart. It is not really “always being sad”, or “feeling depressed all the time”, or so on — that is the story a person tells when they do not know themselves as divided things yet. Each and every of us has a broken heart in this way of being divided, always and ever, no matter how we try to be pure, perfect, or pleasing.

So. All heart are broken. Now, you are welcome to roll your eyes if you like — we live in a cynical age after all. But will that help you understand yourself any better?

Where there is division, of course, there is conflict. The part of you that is jealous of or angry at even your partner, kids, peers, colleagues — that part fights to be heard. The other part struggles not to listen. The two engage in this war, sometimes all night long, as you toss and turn. What to do?

And so we often suppose that the way to approach our broken hearts is to protect them. By “protect”, I mean seal off the “bad” parts from the “good” parts. Build little walls around our anger and despair and sorrow. Never let them show. Never allow them to breathe. Don’t let anyone see your pain. Never let them see you grimace, suffer, ache.

So we put on a little show for everyone — “I’m so happy for yowww!!”, as the saying goes. It means: “See how good and noble and pure I am! I am free of division!” It would be nice if it were true, I suppose. But life would also be very empty that way. We would only be pale echoes of each other — not something more like stars burning out too quickly to dust.

If your life feels a little like a lie, I wonder if it isn’t because you are putting on a show just like this. Does this show work for you? Don’t you find — if you are honest for a moment — that it only makes you feel worse? That it intensifies the very inner conflicts it is supposed to mitigate, that you seethe inside while you pretend to smile outside? That it leads to a sense of powerlessness and hopelessness? That this way, you lash out suddenly, are overcome, can’t stop your words, and afterwards, regret it, but still can’t quite say why?

Protecting a broken heart — sealing it off, walling it away, hiding it away in a dungeon— how do you hope to ever really see, to be seen, to hold, to be held, to know or be known this way? You can only ever really be lonely, empty, hollow this way. Incapable of genuine relationships, of authenticity, of truth, of meaning, of the point and purpose of you.

There are better ways to handle a broken heart than fighting it, because even if a part of you wins, all of you will lose.

A broken heart is meant to be nourished. Not protected. A heart is a little like a seed. If it is protected, nothing can grow from it. Only if it is nourished can forests of grace sprout.

How do you nourish a broken heart? Well, you become a little honest about it. Authentic. Genuine. You say, instead of lying, “I’m so happy for yowww!!”, “I have to admit, I’m a little jealous. I know it’s terrible. I can’t help it. I hope you can forgive me, because I wish only the best for you.” See how you can say it with even more humour and acceptance? See the difference between that kind of raw, searing authenticity and the plastic smile?

Do you see how you can say all that with subtlety, delicacy, gentlenss, with complexity — with a laugh that contains sadness and joy, with a smile that holds oceans of longing and grief — instead of reducing human relationships, life, and beings, to a one-dimensional charade? Do you see why if you reduce your life to a performance, an act, a game — locking away the division in you, pretending it doesn’t exist — your life can never really hold much meaning, much truth, much beauty, much fulfillment? Ah, now you are learning how to handle a broken heart — with gentleness, with truth, with wholeness, with grace.

So. All hearts are broken. We nourish our broken hearts the same way that we nourish a seed. The seed is planted in the soil, where it can breathe, drink, be held by the soil, hold the earth close — the seed is free to be itself, and so it can grow.

In just the same way, you nourish a broken heart by freeing it to be itself. By accepting all of it — the division, the unwanted bits, the scorned parts, because they are the parts that need to grow most, aren’t they? You nourish it by letting it communicate, express, share the fullness of what it is feeling, experiencing, becoming — especially the division, conflict, confusion, the longing, ache, and pain in it, at the very moment it is awkward, strange, unnecessary, difficult. Not just what is acceptable or correct or appropriate, when it is so.

When you do that — and you will find it a great relief, because mostly, people will laugh, when you confess that you are divided, impure, less than perfect — you are nourishing your broken heart. To drink in the water of acceptance. To relax into the soil of yearning. To breathe in the pure air of knowledge. To reflect the light of awareness. Instead of suffocating yourself, day by day, in a dark, hidden dungeon. There is no light, no air, no water down there, is there?

Now, at last, that broken heart — it can be seen, at last, can’t it? Now it can be heard. Known. Held. You are finally really here. The broken heart in you can recognize, at last, its reflection in all those around you. Now life begins to reverberate, to overflow, to roar and to sing. Now there is stillness, happiness, meaning. Just like that seed, you have nourished your heart, by freeing it to be itself.

Do you see how strange and beautiful the journey we have taken together is? We started by understanding that humans are divided things. That is the root of their impossible frailty, their desperate fragility, the ache in me and you that never goes away. But when we are true to the division in us, to our broken hearts, then, through acceptance, through awareness, through awakening, we become capable of love, at last. How funny! How odd. That something wondrous and whole and good can come from something ugly and cracked and impure. How can that be?

Because love is only this. Holding broken things in little hands that cannot grasp them. Whether the things are dust, water, days, or hearts — and whether the hands are those of time, fate, death, or yours and mine — the truth of love, the secret of love, remains one and the same for all beings.