Stillness, Sugar & Self-Trust: A Week in Leipzig

A Sofa, Two Cats & Total Exhaustion

A friend asked me to look after her cats for a week—a gift that arrived just when I needed it. After all the travels I've undertaken since the breakup, I find myself exhausted. As if I've been running from something. From myself? From the pain? From him?

On the bright side, I've been trying to reabsorb life after a period where everything revolved around him. I meet friends, learn new things (like caring for squirrels), participate in Workaways, immerse myself in discovering new places where I hope to finally find my future home.

But my body pulls the emergency brake. As soon as I arrive in Leipzig, I find myself lying on my friend's sofa, overwhelmed by years of suppressed exhaustion.

I sleep a lot, indulge in sweets, and nurture my inner child. It may not be great for my health, but I sense that I need to give myself something I've long been missing: comfort, care, permission. I eat fish sticks, Philadelphia cheesecake (morning, noon, and night), ice cream, pizza—everything my inner child desires. The cats keep me company, their warm bodies providing solace.

The First Breakup Thought – Two Years Ago

Exactly two years ago, as I read in my journal, we first contemplated separation. I was on my way to work, enduring two days filled with accusations, devaluation, and emotional bombardment.

A friend had told me early on, "He's a narcissist; I can see it immediately." I didn't want to believe her. I thought I knew him better. But that day, I started reading—and was shocked by how much applied to him.

I realized: the person I believed to be the love of my life wasn't the ideal I had imagined. I cried for two days, didn't eat, couldn't sleep. At night, I woke up with panic attacks, called the emergency service—convinced I was having a heart attack.

My therapist sided with him, advising me not to read such texts but to "see the person." But what kind of person tells me in the morning he loves me and then destroys me in the evening if I don't answer a question the way he wants? If I ask something "wrong" or leave for work for three days?

One Year Later – The Night I Left

In the same week a year ago, we had just moved out of our shared apartment and were staying at one of his friend's places. I wanted to meet with an acquaintance who had previously worked for me—perhaps she could be part of our project, I though. When I told him, he exploded. Called me manipulative. Said he now realized I was a toxic person because I was meeting a friend while he was losing everything. Yet, I was acting in the interest of his company.

I explained that she wasn't just a "friend" but potentially a professional opportunity. He didn't care. He hated me. Hated me for wanting to leave him alone for two hours—in the suffering I was supposed to share with him. He left, contemplating whether he still wanted to be with me. I didn't want to wait for him to return and tell me he was leaving, so I left myself. Back to our empty apartment, from which we had moved out just days before. Spent the night on the remaining mattress. The next day, I returned to him.

What If I Had Gone Earlier?

Two years ago: we both would have suffered—perhaps I more than him. I wouldn't have been able to let him go. He would have remained my ideal. I would have wondered what could have been. We would have spared ourselves much pain. But I wouldn't have recognized what truly held me: my patterns. My low self-worth.

The same applies to last year. Despite the painful experiences I had already endured, I would have blamed myself. Believed I had overreacted.

I truly believe it had to reach the extreme for me to finally see what I needed to work on in order to break my patterns.

The Quiet Work of Unlearning

This week, many thoughts surface.

Every day, I practice self-hypnosis from the book I Can Mend Your Broken Heart by Paul McKenna (more on this in my post about healing books). Most of the time, I fall asleep during it—imagining the words sinking into my subconscious and soothing something within me.

There's power in doing nothing. In clearing the mind. Without distractions, I suddenly understand many things more clearly.

What if all of this happened so I could learn to be an independent person? To find my heart. To love myself. In the past, I sought security in "right or wrong"—instead of within myself. My head decided he was the one. My heart felt goodness, pain—and lessons. But I didn't want to follow myself. Instead, I followed someone with a seemingly clear plan. That made it so easy to manipulate me.

What Healing Might Actually Be

Without delving deeply into my past, I realize: there were imprints that allowed me to lose myself. I was emotionally hungry. Invested myself. Because I believed I had finally found what I wanted. But what I held onto was mainly pain—and not being seen.

If I had been full—full of myself—I would have asked: Does this relationship empower me, or does it diminish me?

Healing is an inner journey. A re-acquaintance with myself. And the hardest part is accepting: no one is truly to blame. It was a dance, and I participated. And yet, I now see: his behavior was not okay. That's precisely why I'm here—to create something new.

No more following. No more judging. But feeling: What feels good for me?

What role do I want to play?

What life do I want to create?

Perhaps this is where my healing journey begins—in stillness and reflection.

Be Well,

Vaselisa