Rebecca Reynolds

(no title)
You always come back
How to Get Someone Out of Your Head
(A Completely Unprofessional Guide to Emotional Detox)

There should honestly be a gym membership for heartbreak. Not because we suddenly become healthy after a breakup.
Absolutely not. Mostly because pacing around the kitchen at 2:13 a.m. while reopening the same text thread for the forty-seventh time should count as cardio.

Nobody talks enough about the embarrassing side of missing someone. Not the cinematic version. Not the version where you stare thoughtfully out a rainy window while soft music plays in the background.

I’m talking about:
- rereading messages like they’re ancient prophecy
- accidentally stalking their cousin’s dog on social media
- hearing ONE song in Target and suddenly becoming emotionally unavailable in aisle seven
It’s amazing how one person can move out of your life but somehow continue paying rent inside your brain. And the worst part? Your mind becomes a full-time detective agency. Suddenly every little thing means something.

“They watched my story in three minutes.”
“They used a period instead of an exclamation point.”
“They posted a sunset. Is the sunset ABOUT ME?”

At some point, your friends stop comforting you and start looking concerned. Because you’ve now connected:
- astrology
- song lyrics
- timing
- eye contact from three years ago
- and a random fortune cookie
Into what you believe is undeniable evidence of destiny. Meanwhile the universe is just sitting there like:

“Please drink water and move on.”

The truth is, getting someone out of your head is less about forgetting them and more about stopping the emotional addiction to them. Because heartbreak isn’t always about the person.

Sometimes it’s about:
- the fantasy
- the routine
- the attention
- the potential
- the version of yourself you became around them
That’s why your brain keeps replaying them like a Netflix show you refuse to stop rewatching, even though it emotionally destroys you every season. And unfortunately, healing is painfully unglamorous. Nobody wants to hear that the cure is:
- time
- distance
- sleep
- eating actual food
- and not checking their profile “just one more time.”
But that really is the beginning of it. You slowly reclaim tiny pieces of yourself. One morning, you wake up and realize:

You didn’t think about them first thing.

Then later:

You hear your song and only experience mild psychological damage. Progress. Eventually, the obsession loses its grip. Not because they changed. Not because you finally got closure. But because your life slowly became bigger than the absence they left behind. And one day, without warning, you’ll laugh again. Real laugh. The kind that comes from your stomach instead of survival mode.

You’ll meet new people.
Find new routines.
Create new memories.

And the person who once consumed your every thought? They’ll become: just someone you used to know, who almost ruined your nervous system. Honestly, that’s healing.
Love Makes Smart People Absolutely Ridiculous

Love has the unique ability to turn otherwise intelligent human beings into emotional raccoons digging through garbage for signs of hope. We can run businesses. Pay taxes. Raise children.
Remember the lyrics to songs from 1997.

But let one person text: “hey stranger :)”

And suddenly, we lose all critical thinking skills. Love has made all of us do things that should honestly qualify as community service punishment. Like rereading old text messages as if hidden somewhere between:

“lol”
and
“k”

Was the secret code proving they were our soulmate. We become detectives. Historians. FBI profilers. We analyze punctuation as if it were evidence in a murder trial.

“He used a period.
A PERIOD.
He’s pulling away emotionally.”

And don’t even get me started on social media stalking. Nothing humbles a grown adult faster than accidentally liking a photo from 2018 while investigating whether their ex’s “new friend” is just a friend. Love will have you listening to sad music while staring out the window like you’re in a movie nobody funded.

We say things like:

“I’m done this time.”

Then answer their phone call before the first ring finishes. We ignore every red flag because “they’ve just been through a lot.” Meanwhile, the red flags are so aggressive they’re basically doing gymnastics in the wind. But somehow love still keeps us hopeful. That’s the beautiful and tragic part. Because underneath all the embarrassing behavior…all the crying in grocery store parking lots…
all the checking if they viewed our story…is a human being who simply wanted to be loved correctly.

I think that’s why heartbreak hurts our pride so badly. It’s not just that someone hurt us. It’s realizing we abandoned common sense, intuition, friends, sleep, peace, and occasionally dignity, trying to make a relationship work.

And honestly? Most of us would probably do it again. Because even after all the chaos, love still gives us moments that feel magical.

A hand squeeze.
A forehead kiss.
Laughing so hard together, you forget life is difficult.

Those moments make people risk looking foolish all over again. Maybe being dumb in love is part of being human.

Maybe real love always asks us to soften the part of ourselves trying to stay safe. Or maybe we’re all just one late-night text away from losing our minds. Either way… if you’ve ever ignored your own advice for someone you loved, welcome to the club.

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Happy Mothers Day

A mother’s love is quiet rain
Falling softly through our pain,
A steady hand, a whispered prayer,
A light that says, “I’m always there.”

It lives inside the smallest things—
Warm soup, late nights, the songs she sings,
The way she hides her own heartbreak
The smiles, that are really pain so beautifully faked.

A mother’s love does not demand,
It simply reaches out a loving hand.
When all the world feels cold and wild,
She still looks with love at her sweet child.

She sees the good beneath the scars,
Believes in dreams beyond the stars,
And even when the years unfold,
Her love never weakens, never grows old.

For mothers carry sacred art—
They stitch our brokenness with their heart.
And long after their voice is gone,
Their love is what we carry on.

Joyce Reynolds