Hotties get heartbroken

Join the club babe

Is there anything worse than someone asking why you’re still single?

Yes.

It’s a friend answering for you, “Maybe it’s because you don’t really love yourself?”

A mate of mine said this to me recently, and while he meant well, it made me pretty mad.

I was doom spiralling at the time, spun out by another surprise romantic horror story. So I meekly explained that yes, actually, I do love myself.

It’s sad that a significant amount of my twenties was spent in self-hatred. But now, I can confidently say that I no longer find so many faults in myself.

I went to therapy and took my medicine and had an acupuncturist tenderly prick me with needles. I breathed through yoga, I sweat through Pilates, I sobbed on brisk walks around Victoria Park. I overcame panic attacks to go on sunny solo holidays, I pushed through social anxiety to attend weekends away with strangers, I set aside past romantic disappointments to go on a first date again. And again. And again.

Heartbreak makes you brave. It means that you’ve faced difficult days alone, that you’ve survived lonely nights without someone to comfort you. It means that you’ve put your feelings on the line, or you’ve dreamt of a bigger and more beautiful life, or you’ve endured the worst and pulled yourself back together again.

Heartbreak – although it feels absolutely horrendous at the time – often pushes you outside of your comfort zone and into carefree chaos. Into being a hottie who has high standards and good stories.

One heartbroken hottie diving into the unknown

My biggest breakup happened just before I moved to England to study for a year at The University of Bristol. On this new adventure in the northern hemisphere, my boyfriend was meant to be my comforting constant. But knowing it wasn’t quite right, I ended things, facing the year alone. It ended up being the most fun, liberating and ridiculous experience I’d ever had, and was the beginning of my friendships and life in England.

The most devastating heartbreak I endured was during Covid. It had all the ingredients of a disaster – my mental health was in the bin, I was unemployed, alone in a locked-down London, and unsure if I’d ever make it back home. Once life got a little more normal, I booked a trip to Rome to get over my heartache. It turned into a romantic adventure that was eventually published in The New York Times.

Almost every time I’ve been romantically disappointed, I can look back and see how my life opened up in a different, often unexpected, direction.

What I wish I’d said to my friend is this: “I’m actually single because I love myself.”

You know what’s worse than heartbreak? The loneliness of lying awake next to someone who you know isn’t right for you. Of knowing that a world of exciting possibilities exists for other people, but you’re stuck in a relationship because you think it’s easier than being alone.

But I promise, choosing to be on your own can bring you peace, power, and some pretty romantic experiences.

When I was very sad and sick recently, the only thing I could bear to do was disappear into romantic period dramas. I was watching the Netflix adaptation of Persuasion, which has some questionable rewrites. I’m going to quote the Austen version of the line that struck me: “Now they were as strangers; worse than strangers, for they could never become acquainted.”

Netflix took some poetic licence here.

It hit me: being a heartbroken hottie is timeless.

The next time you find yourself battered and bruised by rejection or a premature ending – remember that you’re not alone. You’re joining a long, ancient line of passionate people who were brave enough to risk devastation.

You’re like Frida Kahlo when she wrote to Diego Rivera – the love of her life who couldn’t stop cheating on her, including with her sister (!!!) – as she waited to have her leg amputated (!!!)

I’m writing to let you know I’m releasing you, I’m amputating you… I don’t want to hear from you, I don’t want you to hear from me. If there is anything I’d enjoy before I die, it’d be not having to see your fucking horrible bastard face wandering around my garden.

That is all, I can now go to be chopped up in peace.

Good bye from somebody who is crazy and vehemently in love with you.

Acting like someone who is “crazy and vehemently in love with you” is how I have always lived my life, and I make no plans to change.

If you can make something out of your heartbreak – whether that’s art, or a new friendship, or finding something fresh to love about yourself – you’re joining the leagues of artists before you. You’re like Sylvia Plath when she said:

“Perhaps some day I'll crawl back home, beaten, defeated. But not as long as I can make stories out of my heartbreak, beauty out of sorry.”

You’re like Stevie Nicks when she sings:

“Time cast its spell on you, but you won’t forget me… You’ll never get away from the sound of the woman who loved you.”

No great love comes without the risk of great pain. And I am waiting for a great love. Or maybe two or three.

And when it all seems a little hopeless, I like to think of whoever I’m going to fall in love with next. Where are they, what disappointment are they dealing with on their journey towards me? I imagine how thrilling it will be, sitting down with a spritz and sharing how our heartbreaks shaped us. Two strangers swapping stories, both unaware that they’re on their last first date.