I ran the Brooklyn Half Marathon this year and it taught me more about love than running. I did a condensed training block because I’ve never planned ahead in my life. But I put everything I had into it. I ran farther than I’d ever run before, learned how to fuel for 10 miles and made time for training when I had a million other things going on. It wasn’t easy and I was pretty proud of myself for doing it.

I designed an (expensive) New York weekend with my ex-boyfriend around it. I planned my outfit, I ordered cute little gems to put in my hair, I saved photo and video ideas for the race. Creating content is my full-time job, so while I was excited to capture memories, I also couldn’t wait to transform this thing I loved doing into something to share with my audience.

Instead of being the fun, high-energy day I anticipated, I found myself swallowing tears at every mile marker. There’s something gutting about searching a sea of thousands of people and spotting signs like “Go Mommy Go!” and “My Fiancee is Faster Than Yours!” while thinking, I’m sure I’ll see my person soon. But I never did. I tried to enjoy my music and get in the zone but the events of the weekend replayed in my head. As I crossed the finish line, I still expected to see him. When I couldn’t find him, I checked his location. He was on the other side of Brooklyn.

Earlier that weekend, he had asked if he could invite his childhood friend to stay with us. His friend was living close enough to take the train and join us for a night. The weekend was really important to me, but I said yes. My partner had moved 8 hours from home to be with me, and I was never allowed to forget it. So when there were opportunities for him to see people he loved or do things he missed, I always facilitated. I set the boundary that his friend could stay with us for one night, but I wanted the night before the race to be ours. To relax, discuss our plans, go to sleep early, etc.

Friday night with his friend was great. We met with my friends and went to one of my favorite spots in the city, Cafe Wha. Saturday morning his friend hung around to go to the museum with us. When I came out of the bathroom, my boyfriend announced to me that his friend was going to stay the night with us so we could all go to breakfast after my race on Sunday morning. A clear violation of the boundary I set without asking me, but I honestly wasn’t too upset. I said, “Fine, as long as you are in bed early with me tonight.” I just wanted my comfort person with me while I nervously tried to sleep before my first ever race. I wanted to make sure he knew where to meet me and how to help me. But a comedian they loved was in town. He showed me the tickets and asked if they could go. I said “I’d really rather you didn’t go. I want you to spend tonight with me and be ready for tomorrow.” He didn’t respond. He just clicked book. They were going anyway.

His friend was in the room with us the entire time, making it difficult to have a conversation. I texted my boyfriend, “Please remember to think of me before you make decisions. Especially when we’ve planned something that’s important to me. I feel kind of taken advantage of. Please come home after comedy. And tomorrow morning please wake up and be in a good mood and help me get pictures and videos. And actually watch some of the race and get some clips for me. I’m actually embarrassed begging for you to be supportive but I think I need to.” Verbatim. Now that I think of it, this might be the most embarrassing thing I’ve ever put on the internet. Who stays with someone they have to beg to support them? And if you knew me before this relationship, you’d be even more shocked by this. I had one of the the lowest bullshit tolerances of any of my friends. But something about this relationship was different. We had such a strong connection and so much love. When he hurt me he was genuinely remorseful. But not until he really hurt me. I forgave because I loved him, and he was very convincing.

What followed was he and his friend attending the comedy show. And subsequently running into another friend, with whom they just had to get a drink. So you can imagine how I felt when I woke up at 2:30 in the morning to go to the bathroom and he still wasn’t back. Mind you, my wake up time was 4:30 am. It’s actually funny, I posted a version of this as an Instagram Reel but I censored most details to protect him. The majority of the responses were calling me shallow for caring so much about content or vapid for needing a sign to make me enjoy my race. But what I was feeling had nothing to do with content or a sign. I had trained and planned for something, and I asked the person I loved to support me. So when I passed a man holding a sign that said “My Fiancee is Faster Than Yours” and he leaned over as far as he could to kiss his love while she ran past, I felt like I had been punched in the gut.

And when he tracked her pace to meet her at two other mile markers and greet her at the finish line, I started to realize something. I spelled it out for my partner. I told him exactly what I needed. Not only did he discard my needs, but I shouldn’t have even had to do that. My mom goes to my dad’s beer league hockey games. Just regular weeknight games. And she doesn’t do it because he asks her to (he doesn’t.) She does it because she thinks he’s the best thing in the world. She’s so proud that he’s 60 and still skating. She gets mad when someone pushes him. She’s there because she wants to see him, not because she thinks she’s supposed to be there.

I’m not someone who thinks your partner should be able to intuit everything you need and want. But I don’t think delighting in your partner’s happiness should require effort. You should be excited to see your partner whether it’s in the kitchen after work, or running a half marathon. Maybe not everyone works that way. But I do. And that was the day I learned that the person I’m going to spend decades having dinner with needs to work that way too.

I’ve been going through it (the phrase I’ve been using to describe the way life has absolutely crushed me recently without divulging details that I’m not ready to share.) So I went to New York in an attempt to come back to life a little bit.

I had a vision for the trip. I wanted to take fun photos with my friends, do an art class and work from coffee shops. I wanted afternoons at Book Club Bar, dinner and drinks, comedy shows and Café Wha?

And then basically none of that happened! Perfect.

I stayed at my friend’s apartment with her adorable cat, Oat, who unexpectedly became a highlight of the trip. Every morning he would sit next to the bed and meow me awake. Just to make me come downstairs and exist in the same room as him. And thank God, because left to my own devices, I would have stayed in bed until noon being depressed and thinking in circles.

In coming to New York, I was hoping to escape my thoughts, and instead I found myself spending hours sitting alone with them. And it’s been about two years since I spent this much time alone, so my thoughts were loud. I kept trying to analyze my way into certainty about my life. I’d think, maybe if I examine this from one more angle I will finally arrive at a satisfying answer. If you want to make yourself absolutely insane, this is the move.

The one thing I was right about is that New York is filled with too many people I love to allow me to crumble and sulk the whole time. My friends dragged me out of the apartment, forced me to come to dinner even after I’d cried off all of my makeup, and all but poured tequila in my mouth when we went out.

Halfway through the trip, I went to dinner with two friends who gave me advice that lifted a weight off my chest. They told me to give myself permission to make the wrong choice. “Instead of trying to force yourself to make a decision you’re not ready to make, do whatever feels right. And stop beating yourself up over it.”

After that dinner, I started doing a little better on my own. I booked a few of my favorite yoga classes, dragged my ass to Book Club Bar, and actually started feeding myself. I sh*t you not, I was so proud that I got myself food (not DoorDash,) that I sent a picture of my bagel to my best friend like it was a trophy. And the best thing I started doing for myself, was going on long, aimless walks. Just me and my headphones. Because when I stopped analyzing my situation to death, I could finally feel my gut talking to me. And I realized I’ve known the answer for a while now, but I didn’t want to believe it. I allowed my thoughts to drown out my gut because I thought that maybe if I just constructed the right framing or heard the right thing, then I would be able to get my gut to agree with me. But that’s the thing about intuition, you can suppress it, you can ignore it, but you can’t change its mind.

The strangest part is that I had been trying so hard to hear myself. I thought the way to do that was to sit down and concentrate harder, journal harder, analyze harder. Like if I kept examining the situation I’d uncover some hidden piece of information that would make the everything obvious. But as soon as I stopped demanding an answer from myself, I could finally feel my gut. I stopped thinking long enough to feel. And I knew what was true for me. Not what I wanted to be true, or what someone else thought was true, but what was true for me. There are times when analysis is incredibly useful. There are also times when analysis becomes a very sophisticated way of arguing with something you already know. I had reached the latter.

That realization didn’t take away the pain I’ve been feeling. In some ways, clarity is its own kind of heartbreak. You can know what is right for you and still desperately wish that the answer were different. But there is also relief in no longer trying to debate myself into feeling something I don’t feel.

And there was one more thing New York reminded me of: there are so f*cking many people in the world. This sounds obvious until you need to remember it. The world gets very small when you’re hurting. Your brain convinces you that your current life is the whole universe. This person, this problem, this decision, this grief, this is everything. And then you walk outside in New York and eight million people are going somewhere. And you might still feel like sh*t. But it’s still nice to remember that while it feels like the center of your universe is falling apart, you are not the center of the universe.

So I didn’t come home with a camera roll full of evidence that I had the time of my life. But I came home with exactly what I needed.

If you’ve ever felt like the noise got so loud you could no longer hear yourself think, you understand where I’ve been. I got knocked on my a** so hard my brain and body just stopped functioning. I felt like I physically couldn’t get out of bed, much less turn on a camera and talk (my job, unfortunately.)

That’s the hardest thing about being a bubbly, wellness content creator. The brand is that I’m optimistic and pretty much always excited about something. So what am I supposed to create when the only thing I’m feeling is existential dread? Turn on the camera and cry? Probably not the worst strategy, if I could think of something to say.

I hate to disappoint, but I’m still processing. So I’m keeping some details private and I don’t have a neat little ending or a lesson to share. But I’ve finally decided to start moving. And in case this helps anyone, I’m going to share what I’m doing to reconnect with myself:

1. Movement. If you’re here, you probably know that I’m a runner. I force myself to stay active because it completely changes the way I experience the world and I can’t recommend it enough, especially when you’re struggling. On that note, I haven’t done sh*t in the last three weeks. Showering and putting on new clothes has felt like a win. But I can finally feel myself coming back to life, so I’m committing this week. The rules: a favorite workout class every morning + a minimum 10k steps / day (light work in New York.)

2. Getting the f*ck off my phone. I know I’m a broken record here. I love creating content and I’m going to be so excited to capture everything in the city through fresh eyes. So I’m Bricking up. And I’m serious, so the Brick is staying home while I go out. I can tell you with certainty that this is the only way. I read something once that said it’s still 2003 outside if you just get off your phone and I think that feels pretty real.

3. Creating. Content, my business, new outfits, food, art, writing. Creating does so many things for me but two of those things are especially important right now: It gives me something to be excited about (starting) and something to feel proud/accomplished about (finishing.) And if I need to feel anything right now, it’s excited and accomplished.

4. New experiences. This is why I’m getting out of my daily environment. There’s something so relaxing about having something new to focus on. When I’m captivated by something new, my brain can finally stop analyzing. Some things on my to do list: trying new restaurants, exploring new neighborhoods, maybe taking an art or cooking class. Anything to switch my brain from thinking to feeling.

5. Expression. This is something I’ve realized I always do when I’m getting back to myself, but I haven’t named it until now. I don’t take the greatest care of myself when I’m in a funk. I stop putting effort into my appearance, and maybe stop getting dressed altogether. And when I start coming out of it, I remember how good it feels to love how you look. I know what I like to look at, but I don’t always know what I like on me. I think it would be really fun to work with someone on finding my personal style based on what I love, not off of trends. I want to be able to translate my taste in movies, music, art, etc. and express that through outfits that make me feel really me.

6. That’s all I have planned for now but please let me know if you have any suggestions!

I want to add that as I’ve been emerging, I’ve been kind of disappointed in myself for getting so lost. But maybe part of life is cycles of losing yourself and finding yourself again. And losing yourself sucks because you never catch it live. It’s always in retrospect that you realize you stopped laughing, dancing, doing the things you love. But the silver lining is that finding yourself again is actually really fun.

So three weeks of sleeping, therapy, journaling, and crying later, I’m ready to start. So, hi. I’m alive! A little emotionally concussed, but coming back. And I’ve really missed creating. As unsure as I still am, I don’t think there’s anything else I can figure out until I get back to myself first. So that’s the whole agenda this week.

And there’s no better place to do that than my second home.

So I’ll see you in New York.