Photo by Ruth Armstrong.
Luke Winter is a writer and storyteller. He’s got a beautiful way with words both written and spoken - and with photography - and with putting good and clever things into the world, like Story Wagon. I’ve been lucky enough to have him in my life for many years now, including the raw weeks following the heartbreak which first inspired my book. My loveliest post is always from him.
So when I came to ask other people to add their own Heartbreak Sevens to this newsletter, I thought of Luke first of all. I’m honoured to be able to share his words here.
Hearts break a lot. Good ones, over and over.
In my twenties I got really into spirituality. The west met east cache of beatniks, hippies, and wellness influencers. I met people who had been doing the work of self reflection and spiritual discovery for decades. I expected them to be happy.
An elderly psychologist who grew up in an ashram lives rent free in my memory. Her life and relationships remained as chaotic as anyone else’s. I was aghast. It was supposed to be so easy. Dramatic, disturbing things kept turning up in her life. Now in my thirties I am coming to terms with this knowledge, that doing the work doesn’t stop the heart from breaking. Doing the work means facing into it, even encouraging it, because we know we can survive heartbreak, and that our world changes with each break. Sometimes we must change our worlds, and sometimes the world will change us without our asking. So each heart breaks over and over. And mends, over and over. Love is a flower of blood.
1. Something to read
The Unbearable Lightness of Being by Milan Kundura.
When experiencing acute romantic pain, this is ferocious. Someone told me they read it at absolutely the worst possible moment. I can't think of a better compliment. Kundura paints the pains of infatuation and rejection in all of their delicious fecundities.
2. Something to listen to
Berlin Blues by Alice Phoebe Lou.
Pain of the present with all of the hope of the future in it too. Alice has a voice for interstellar heart voyages. Sing it out. Sing along. Singing is good for regulating your nervous system. Humming self-soothes. So sing anything. Sing with others. Shut your eyes. Sink. Soar.
3. Something to watch
Watch anything you want mate, but invite people round. I like my house to have a constant flow of people dropping round and perfuming the space with their personalities. Being heartbroken can make this hard.
I found hosting cinema nights at my house to be a calming, low-obligation way of inviting people to spend time in my space, without me needing to talk, drink booze or cook anyone dinner. It’s so soothing to sit in the dark all together whilst the films play, chatting shit.
Photo by Ruth Armstrong.
4. Something to eat
Tatties. Once grief has given you back your appetite, tatties and broccoli. Oh baby, veg-e-tables.
5. Something to drink
Fizzy water. All those bubbles doing backflips down your esophagus.
Hibiscus tea. It’s packed with vit C and it pours like fairy’s blood.
6. Somewhere to go
Into the woods, take off your hat. Find trees where you can't be seen by other humans. Rest your forehead against a tree. Exhale through your mouth. Inhale through your nose.
7. A bonus seventh - balm for a broken heart
Hawthorn. The ancient cure for hearts. Taking hawthorn as a tincture helped me cure my heart when it had ached, physically, everyday, for years after a breakup.
Making your own tincture isn’t very hard. You'll need haw berries (autumn) and a spirit. Look up recipes. Or ask a herbalist if they've any in stock.
I pick berries each autumn at places that are special to me - friend’s gardens, childhood hedgerows - to make a batch of heart tonic that will see me through the year.
Photo by Annie Spratt on Unsplash.