The Rules Women Can't Follow During and After a Breakup
Why Women's Healing Is Always Too Much, Too Little, and Never Just Right
Breakups have always sucked, and now there’s an extra layer of performance. Every moment of grief or healing becomes content, whether we want it to or not.
We've been grappling with heartbreak since the dawn of relationships, yet somehow we're still searching for answers. Every generation claims to have "modern" dating advice that's different, evolved, and somehow better than before. But are we really getting any better at handling the end of love?
In today's hyperconnected world, our phones archive every failed romance. The shoebox of letters and photos once hidden in a closet corner has transformed into an endless scroll of digital memories: screenshots of promises made and broken, while algorithms and iPhone Memories curate personalized slideshows of our past.
Dating apps promise that connection is easier than ever, yet despite nearly half of Americans using them, dating has become harder. Perhaps because no one ever considered an app for the aftermath.
The Cost of Finding the “Right” Words
Writing has always been my first language. It’s my way of bleeding out the poison, my method of finding truth or meaning in chaos.
Before hitting publish on my last piece, I wrestled with the implications. Perhaps sharing could help others feel seen. Proof that even someone with advanced relational education still experiences uncertainty, heartbreak, and rejection.
My mind also turned to the mutual connections who still follow my accounts. Would they report back to my ex? Would they resurrect old stories? Would they paint me as a liar?
The questions inevitably come. Why write about it now? Almost two years later? Does this mean I’m still stuck? That I’m not over it? That I’m looking for attention?
For me, writing isn’t about being stuck, it’s about being ready. Ready to face it, to share the lessons, to offer clarity to others who might see themselves in my story. It means I’ve stepped back into my confidence. But confidence doesn’t mean our stories fit neatly into society’s expectations of how we should process and share our pain.
The Myth of a Clean Break
The language we use to talk about endings reveals our cultural obsession with purity. In my work, I often challenge how we talk about sexually transmitted infections (STIs). There’s the dichotomy of “clean” and “dirty” that implies some bodies are pure and others are contaminated. The same stigmatizing language shows up in breakups.
Just as society demonizes those with STIs as somehow “unclean” or “unworthy” of love, we judge those who can’t make a “clean” break. As if messiness in ending love somehow makes us unworthy of finding it again.
We’re told to be the mature one. To hold your tongue when your ex lists out your wrongdoings without argument. To go item by item, splitting your belongings down the middle in an unemotional game of who gets what. To keep the peace by being the bigger person, trusting karma will balance the scales.
Throughout our relationship, my ex insisted my actions and approach to life were “childish.” My ambitions made me boring, his binge-drinking made him social. My boundaries made me cold, his exclusion made him independent. My interests made me intense, his indifference made him easygoing. Somehow my drive toward growth was the problem, while his patterns of avoidance were perfectly fine.
How could I win a war when he was already misunderstanding and misrepresenting my positions? I couldn’t.
The Gender of Grief
The demands of maturity have always been gendered. Women are expected to be emotional caretakers during relationships and maintain dignity and grace during and after breakups. A man can vent his frustrations and aggressions and be seen as “processing,” while a woman risks being labeled “crazy” or “delusional” or “unable to move on” for expressing the same emotions.
When relationships end, especially publicly, society’s interrogation of women begins. “What’s wrong with her?” Too fat, too thin? Too flawed, too uninteresting? Did she let herself go? Did she not meet his expectations? Did she dare to have expectations and boundaries of her own? The questions pile up, each one shifting blame onto her shoulders, each one questioning her reality.
This pattern of questioning women’s experiences extends far beyond breakups. We see this play out publicly in cases of abuse and violence. “If it was that bad, why did she wait so long to report it?” Worse, “What if she’s really the one who is abusive?”
Society fails women because it starts from a position of disbelief. Society fails survivors because their story always needs more proof against a man’s words. A woman’s truth is never enough.
These dynamics of disbelief don’t just shape our public conversations, they seep into our private moments, our social media feeds, and our healing process.
The Performance of Healing
We learn to perform early. During the relationship, through its ending, and especially in the aftermath.
Even now, writing this piece, I understand my role in the performance. Calculating how my healing might be perceived. Will readers think I’m not healed enough? Too healed to understand the fresh pain of heartbreak and rejection? It’s a woman’s longstanding game of perception versus reality, and it’s one none of us can win.
In sharing this, I'm probably reinforcing my role as the villain in his story. The crazy ex. The one who couldn't just move on quietly or is still obsessed.
He’s right, I am obsessed. Obsessed with lessons learned, self-improvement, and rebuilding my confidence. Things he’ll probably still claim as too selfish, too ego-driven, too childish. All to fulfill his narrative, the stories he tells.
I've worked to accept that I’ll always be the villain in his story regardless of what I do or don't say. What I did or didn’t do. No amount of silence or performance of mature healing will change that narrative.
I was too emotional until I wasn't emotional enough, too intense until I was too detached. Perhaps it’s time to question why a woman’s authentic healing always looks like defiance to those who once demanded both her tears and her silence.