How to move on after five years together

Bea had a playlist called "Kami." A hundred and fourteen songs: five years of road trips, fights and making up. Three months had passed since she and Enzo broke up, and the playlist was still on her phone.

Every night, after work in Makati, she sat on the balcony of the condo she rented, earphones in, and played their songs. Then she opened Enzo's profile. Checked if he had posted anything new. Who had reacted. Whether he looked happy.

"Bes, i-unfollow mo na kasi," her best friend Kim told her. "Oo, bukas," Bea replied. Many "tomorrows" went by.

Many "tomorrows" went by.

Sundays were the hardest. Sunday used to be their day: church, lunch at Enzo's family's house, then a movie. Now she lay in bed all day with the TV on, barely watching.

At work she struggled to focus. She used to be the fastest on her team. Now one poster took her the whole day. When one of their songs came on the radio in a Grab, she looked out the window so the driver wouldn't see her crying.

In five years they had built routines, shared friends and plans already talked through. When Enzo left, the shape of Bea's day went with him. The Sunday lunch, the good morning text, the first person she called with news.

Checking his profile was like scratching a wound. Brief relief, then more pain. Every check sent Bea back to the start.

There was shame too. All their friends knew what had happened. At family gatherings someone still asked, "Kumusta na kayo ni Enzo?" She just smiled and said she was okay.

Her body felt it as well. She had no appetite and lost weight without meaning to. "Ang payat mo na, Bea," a coworker said. She smiled again.

Heaviest of all were the questions at night. Am I enough? What is wrong with me? Is there someone new? Round and round, no answers, until dawn.

There was no single day when she was suddenly okay. She did a few things that helped, one at a time.

First, she muted before she unfollowed. That much she could manage. Enzo's posts stopped showing up, and the nights spent staring at his profile got fewer. A month later she was able to unfollow.

Second, she moved the playlist into a folder called "Para sa ibang araw," for another day. She made a new one, "Ako Muna," me first, full of songs with no memories attached yet.

Third, she told Kim the truth: she cried every night and didn't know how to stop. From then on, Kim stayed close. Every Thursday they ate out or walked around Ayala Triangle after work.

She also wrote down the questions that kept circling at night. Next to "Am I enough?" she wrote what Kim and her family had said about her. Slowly, the voice telling her something was wrong with her got quieter.

Fourth, she gave her evenings something new. She signed up for a pottery class on Tuesdays. She went back to her church's young adults group, which she hadn't attended in a long time. Some nights were still heavy. There were fewer of them now.

And she prayed honestly. At first her prayer was, "Lord, ibalik Mo siya," bring him back. Over time it became, "Lord, pagalingin Mo ako," heal me. Psalm 147:3 was on a sticky note on her monitor at the office.

Six months later, one evening, she heard one of their songs in a café. She smiled. It still hurt a little. She smiled anyway.

It still hurt a little. She smiled anyway.

If you are reading this while staring at someone's profile, breathe first. It is normal to hurt this much. You loved them, and this pain is part of that love.

Pick one small step this week. Mute. Move the playlist. Tell a friend the truth. Plan one thing that is just for you.

If for more than two weeks you have been unable to sleep or eat, or you are struggling to function at work, talk to a doctor or counselor. That is a normal next step, and help works.

If you want somewhere to start right now, HopeBegins is free. Pick how you feel and get one small thing to try today, calming tools, someone to pray for you, and an e-coach you can message on Messenger. If it feels like you have no one to talk to, read I feel alone.