Dear Anna,

I’m 26 and going through my first real breakup. My boyfriend and I have been together for almost four years — he’s my first serious relationship, first love, all of it. We’ve been incredibly happy, but recently some major life circumstances have come up that are pushing us in different directions. There’s technically a way we could stay together — he could move across the country with me for grad school — but I know he’s not going to, and honestly, I understand why. His entire life, his family, his career are here. I’m not angry at him. I’m not even sure I blame him. I’m just devastated. I genuinely thought we’d get married, buy a house, build a whole life together. Now it feels like we’re just counting down the days until one of us finally says it out loud. The physical pain is what’s shocking me most. My chest feels tight all the time, like something is sitting on it. I cry until I can’t breathe. I feel nauseous. I can’t sleep. I know this sounds dramatic, but I genuinely feel like I’m dying. Is this what heartbreak always feels like, or is it just this intense because it’s my first? And how do I get through this when every single part of my body is telling me something is terribly, physically wrong? — What a Heartbreaking First

Dear WTF,

Yes, heartbreak feels exactly like this. And no, you’re not being dramatic. What you’re experiencing is real, physical pain — your body isn’t lying to you about that. And it’s not in your head.

Let me explain.

When you lose someone you love, your brain processes it similarly to physical injury. The chest tightness, the nausea, sometimes the actual heart muscle aches, as if it’s being squeezed — that’s not metaphorical suffering. That’s your nervous system in crisis mode, flooded with stress hormones, genuinely struggling to regulate itself. Heartbreak activates the same neural pathways as physical pain. So when you say it feels like you’re dying, your body actually believes it is — it’s convinced that something catastrophic is happening and acts accordingly. On top of that, you’re mentally grieving the future you thought you were going to have.

I will say that first heartbreaks often hit differently because you’ve never survived one before. You don’t have the reference point of knowing that eventually, miraculously, impossibly, this feeling will pass. Right now it feels permanent and unbearable because you’ve never had to learn that hearts actually do heal, even when it seems anatomically impossible.

Let me be the first to reassure you — and don’t take my word for it, ask anyone who’s survived heartbreak and moved on from it — that it gets easier.

But here’s the hard truth: There are no shortcuts through this. You can’t think your way out of heartbreak. You can’t logic yourself into feeling better. You can’t distract yourself or numb yourself with booze or drugs or sex or a new obsession. The only way out is straight through the middle of it, and that means you have to feel it fully, even though it’s excruciating.

Lean into it. Cry until you’re empty. Let yourself be sad without trying to fix it or rush past it. Grief needs to move through your body, and the more you try to suppress it or “get over it” quickly, the longer it lingers. (Or worse, it comes out in surprising, insidious ways, such as illness, random bouts of anger or emotional breakdowns.)

This doesn’t mean wallowing forever — it means giving yourself permission to actually process what’s happening instead of white-knuckling your way through fake productivity and forced positivity.

Take care of your body while it’s in crisis. Eat even when you’re not hungry. Drink water. Move your body — walk, stretch, anything that reminds you that you’re still alive and functioning. Sleep when you can, even if it’s terrible sleep. Your physical health will help stabilize the emotional chaos, even if only slightly.

Talk to people who love you. Or a therapist. Or both. Don’t isolate. You’ll be tempted to because heartbreak feels humiliating and private, but humans are wired to heal in connection, not alone.

One more thing about the particular hell you’re in right now, aka the limbo state. You’re grieving a relationship that technically hasn’t ended yet, which means you’re stuck in this awful in-between where you can’t fully let go but you also can’t pretend everything is fine. This anticipatory grief is its own special torture because you're mourning while still going through the motions of being together. If you're still seeing each other, set a timeline for when this ends — not because you want to rush heartbreak, but because the uncertainty is making everything worse. Your brain can’t start processing the loss when the loss hasn’t actually happened yet. The waiting and the dread are often worse than the actual ending. Sometimes the kindest thing you can do for yourself is to stop prolonging the inevitable and let yourself start healing for real.

And here’s what I need you to hear: You will survive this. Not because the pain will disappear overnight, but because time and distance and the sheer act of continuing to exist will slowly, quietly dull the edges. One day you’ll realize you went an hour without thinking about him. Then a morning. Then a whole day. It won’t feel possible right now, but it will happen.

This isn’t your only love. It’s your first. And first loves are formative and beautiful and devastating when they end, but they’re far from the whole story.

Let yourself grieve what you’re losing. You’re allowed.

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