He Broke Me

Photo Credits - Chris Heck

My heart first broke when I was six years old. I raced into my parents’ bedroom, ready for morning cartoons, and my childhood as I had known it was swiftly taken from me. I found my daddy, lifeless, lying on the floor. It was then, a month before my seventh birthday, I developed a fear of abandonment and the belief that I would carry with me my entire life: When I love someone, they leave.

            It left a void inside me. One that I desperately tried to fix, heal, and fill. And for twenty-two years, I didn’t fully allow anyone back in until him.

He broke me. It’s almost funny in a way, looking back on it now. He broke me worse than finding out about my husband’s six-month affair and double life. More than the death of my father or the tragic loss of my high school sweetheart, twelve years later. I spent a month and a half in a wild, all-encompassing love affair, and the heartbreak that followed was the most savage I have ever experienced. A heartbreak so fierce, only the chosen ones who have had to bear that burden can truly comprehend the pain. But of course, it didn’t start that way…

            I was swept off my feet, fresh out of my divorce. It was as if the universe had divinely cleared both paths so that ours could cross. It felt like fate—he felt like a soulmate. Over five days, we fell in love. Not the kind of love that gives you butterflies and leaves you lusting after someone new. The type of love that rivals the one we read about in novels and the fairy tales we see in the movies. The kind of love that makes it clear why all the tragic events in your past had to take place. The type of love that brings the sobering realization that you’ve never actually been in love before. I became the center of his world—and it was as if the brightest and warmest ray of sunshine was beaming down directly on me.

            “I can’t believe I get to be with you, Gabrielle. I feel incredibly lucky.”

            “Are you even real?” I laughed. “How is this all happening so quickly?”

            “I won’t try to analyze it. There are no rules in love. It happens when you least expect it.”

   Being with him was intoxicating. His friends and family would continuously say they’d never seen him like this before. It felt as if I had finally found my home. So when he asked me to join him on a month-long trip to Italy only a few days into our relationship, saying yes was surprisingly easy.

            What I didn’t know was that he was also desperately trying to fill a void within himself. His brother had taken his own life a year and a half earlier, and, until meeting me, his days had been unrelentingly painted with a shade of gray. Falling in love with me filled that void so quickly, he almost forgot it even existed.

            “I think your dad and my brother brought us together. They must be up there, laughing about totally changing our lives.” He flashed his knee-weakening smile at me.

            “What am I going to do with you?” I sighed with a smirk on my lips.

            “I don’t know, but I’m so happy you’re mine.”

            The month and a half we spent together was one of the most magical and euphoric times of my life. We were making plans years down the road, meeting each other’s families, and daydreaming about our romantic trip to Italy. Everything was perfect…until it wasn’t.

One day, his void slowly but surely began to reappear. And with that came grief.

            I’m no stranger to grief. Losing the two most important men in your life before you hit eighteen will do that to you. I’ve sat with grief, fought with grief, and had freaking tea parties with grief. So I tried to be there for him in every way that I could. I wanted to help him walk back toward the light, back toward me. But forty-eight hours before we were to step on a plane to Italy, it happened.

            It was a simple answer to a simple question. “Do you feel anything for me right now besides friendship?” He paused for what felt like a lifetime.

            “No,” he said through tears. I don’t think I have ever felt more devastated by such a simple word. I cannot remember the last time I cried with that much pain underneath it. Even when I found out about my husband’s affair, the one big cry I had was motivated by anger and betrayal. This cry was just pure, deep pain. Because in that moment, I realized this profound love was slipping through my fingers. I realized that I would not have a life with this man I so desperately loved. And just like that, the bright warm sunshine disappeared. I was left sitting in the cold, wondering what the hell had just happened to my seemingly perfect fairy tale. When I love someone, they leave. Ah, hello, void.

He fractured me that night in a way I never imagined possible. But I had a decision to make. Would I stay home and attempt to figure out how this wild masterpiece of a love affair suddenly went up in flames? Or would I face one of my biggest fears, one that I had been carrying with me since I was a little girl? Being alone. The universe had suddenly given me a straightforward way to face it head-on in the most significant way possible.

Two days later, I boarded a plane to London with no plans, no idea where I was heading, and a very freshly broken heart. The only thing I knew about hostels was that there was a movie about them, and people got brutally murdered in it. I was absolutely terrified. But there is power in the unknown and change on the other side of fear. So I held my breath, put one foot in front of the other, and set off on the adventure of a lifetime.

I smoked a joint in Amsterdam. Stuffed my face with delicious crepes in Paris. Healed in Barcelona. Lost sleep in Mykonos. And cried in the streets of Italy, where it was supposed to all begin. I did the work. I sat with the grief. I allowed the anger. I fought to truly find out why I kept attracting these men who walked through my life, leaving careless footprints on my abandoned heart. And I wrote. My emotions poured out of me, on the blank pages of a leather-bound journal, about my grand love affair, my heart’s deepest pains, my wild adventures, and the journey to self-love. That journal became a book that would change my life indelibly and help so many other women around the world.

I realized that what I had thought to be love was toxic—something that was never going to lead to a happy ending. And if anyone can tell you that, it’s the woman who’s been trying to fill her own void since she was six years old. No one else can do that for you—that responsibility lies within.

And by the very end, for the first time, I’d met the new me. The me that could recognize her trauma, walk through her fears, and choose to be okay by herself. I was not the same woman who had boarded the plane a month earlier. I no longer felt betrayed by the man I’d married. My ex-husband hadn’t ruined my life he had given me a chance to really live it. I was no longer heartbroken by the person I had so quickly given my heart to. Yes, he’d broken my heart—but he had also broken me open so I could fall in love with myself. I was no longer scared of what life might throw my way. I had survived the explosions, weathered the storms, and found my way back to the light. I had survived. I had healed.

I stepped on the plane home, knowing without a doubt the woman I was, and it was

someone I was unwaveringly proud of. I had boarded my first flight scared, broken, and confused. I had begged, pleaded, and searched for healing. Then, without any monumental or obvious answer, I’d found it. There was no quick fix. There was no clear and easy path. Life is messy and brokenly beautiful. The clarity comes when you continue to go inward, do the work, and ask the questions.

It was time to walk through all the fear. It was time to stop letting my trauma define me. It was time to redefine my oldest belief. Time to finally fill my own void. I knew that no matter what catastrophic upheaval the universe might decide to drop into my future world, one thing remained certain: I would never abandon myself. So really, when all was said and done, what was there left to fear?

What I found on that journey, that epic quest into the depths of my soul, was that I no longer needed a man’s safety or protection. That piece had been officially put back in its rightful place, and I had found that within myself. Because I finally knew. I finally knew what I needed to fill the void that had been with me for so many years. What had been missing all this time? Me.

He broke me. He broke me open so I could bloom exponentially. He broke me so I could unapologetically know that I was enough. He broke me so I could become the woman I am today, writing this now. Because what has bloomed from the ashes of the destruction of my heart is unequivocal because it was my heart he broke, and my heart…bloomed a freaking movement.

 Gabrielle Stone is the best-selling author behind the viral phenomenon Eat Pray #FML, the heartbreak bible that sparked a global community. When readers demanded more, she delivered with the hit sequel The Ridiculous Misadventures of a Single Girl and the chart-topping podcast FML Talk. What began as a shattered heart quickly grew into a movement.

Fans were captivated by the man at the center of her second book—Taymour Ghazi—whom Gabrielle later married and started a family with. An accomplished actor, artist, and director, Taymour now adds “author” to his repertoire as Gabrielle’s co-writer on their new book, Finding You Through Finding Me. Together, they offer an unguarded, unvarnished exploration of two people healing from their own histories as they navigate the unpredictable, demanding, and extraordinary path of building a life together.