If you’ve ever gone through a breakup, you’ve likely received the brutal advice of going “no contact” with your ex. But does this rule actually help us? And if so, how?

“No contact” is a rule many people follow post-breakup. Basically, it’s exactly as it sounds: you cut off all contact with your ex, in an attempt to get over them. That might look like muting or blocking them on social media, not responding to calls or texts, and basically pretending they’re dead to you—not to punish them, but to give yourself time away from them so you can heal.

Creating this space—both physical and emotional—from your ex-partner allows you to move on without constantly factoring them into your decisions and your future. Naturally, after a breakup, we are still wired to think about that person constantly. No matter how long you dated them for, they were once a regular part of your everyday life. You likely spoke with them each morning and night, scheduled multiple hangouts throughout the week if you lived close, attended outings together, and relied on each other for support and love. 

Just because you can logically tell yourself the relationship is over doesn’t mean your mind and body will process it right away. In fact, it will continue to search for ways to connect with that person and salvage some sort of contact with them, even if it’s just happening in your brain.

If you don’t allow yourself distance from your ex (including cutting off texts and phone calls), you might have a harder time accepting the breakup and fully allowing yourself to move on.

Just because something is good for you doesn’t mean it’s easy. Oftentimes, going no contact feels like enduring severe emotional withdrawals from the person you love and the connection you shared. Especially when there’s sex and intimacy involved, this can cause extreme, sometimes unbearable pain and mourning.

However, this cold-turkey approach will accelerate the process and allow you to fully grieve the loss without living in a state of hopeful limbo. 

Take it from me: I attempted to stay in touch with an ex a few years back, telling myself I was strong enough to move on while still being able to touch base with him occasionally. However, subconsciously, I was still holding out hope. Every time he would ask to see me or message me a song he thought I’d like, I would fall right back into a downward spiral. All my progress and healing seemingly vanished. He knew that—and he took advantage of that, with no intention of ever rekindling. And within a few weeks, he began dating someone else.

I was devastated. If only I had cut off contact when we originally broke up…I would have been able to prepare for his moving on and perhaps even done so myself. But no, I wanted to stay in touch. I made excuses, telling myself, “But he still loves me! He even said so!” “We can still support each other.” “Maybe one day…”

It feels good to fuel yourself with false hope—momentarily, at least. That reassurance can only last so long.

Staying in contact with an ex can worsen the breakup and delay any progress you could have made during it. If you decide, instead, to temporarily cut off communication with your ex, you get to rediscover who you are without them. How exciting, if you really think about it? 

Oftentimes, in relationships, we inevitably sacrifice certain parts of ourselves to salvage the connection. Maybe we don’t see friends or travel as often, or perhaps we push our hobbies aside to make more time for our lovers. 

Being single and dedicating all your free time to yourself and your wants, needs, and desires will allow you to blossom and glow in ways you didn’t even know were possible. 

Of course, there’s no one-size-fits-all approach to breakups. You should always trust yourself and do what you’re comfortable with (within legal limits, obviously…). If you want to maintain some contact, that’s your prerogative. 

However, if you want to rip the band-aid off and start healing, you might want to consider the no-contact rule. This doesn’t have to last forever; it’s just until you can find your grounding without them again.

“The wound is the place where the Light enters you.” ~ Rumi

I never imagined I’d be here at forty-nine—divorced, disoriented, and drowning in an identity crisis. I had met him just before my sixteenth birthday. He was all I knew. We built an entire life together—nearly three decades of marriage, raising children, shared memories, traditions, routines. And then, one day, it all collapsed with five haunting words: “I need some space, Heather.”

At first, I thought it was a phase. But the space became silence, the silence became separation, and soon after, I was signing divorce papers. The man I had built my entire adult life around was gone—and I was left looking in the mirror, asking, who am I without him?

I wasn’t just grieving a relationship. I was grieving myself. The version of me that had given everything. The version that bent and adapted and compromised for the sake of “us.” And underneath the heartbreak was a heavy cocktail of blame and resentment—toward him, toward myself, and honestly, toward time.

I blamed him for blindsiding me, for giving up, for not fighting for us. I resented him for having the freedom to walk away while I was left holding the pieces of a shattered dream. But deeper down, I blamed myself for not seeing the signs. For ignoring the subtle shifts. For losing myself in the process of trying to keep a marriage alive that had slowly stopped breathing.

The truth is our marriage ended because we grew apart. I had started evolving—becoming more spiritual, more curious, more self-aware. He didn’t come with me. And after years of unspoken tension, emotional distance, and mismatched values, we were no longer on the same path. Still, even with that understanding, it didn’t make the grief easier.

For months, I was in survival mode—smiling through social events, working, taking care of my responsibilities. Outwardly composed. But inside? I was crumbling. The nights were the hardest. That’s when the questions haunted me:

What did I do wrong? Why wasn’t I enough? Will anyone ever love me again?

Then, one quiet afternoon—nothing particularly special about it—I sat in my bedroom, surrounded by silence, sunlight pouring through the window, and I just… stopped. I was exhausted from my own thoughts. There was no dramatic trigger—just an overwhelming stillness that finally gave space for a new question to enter:

What if this isn’t the end? What if this is the beginning of coming home to myself?

That was the moment everything shifted. I decided I was no longer going to be the woman waiting to be rescued. I was going to become the woman who rescued herself.

Heartbreak lives in the body. And mine was screaming.  Tight shoulders, restless sleep, a dull ache in my chest that never left. I had spent so long disassociating from my body—ignoring its cries while tending to everyone else’s needs.

But healing demanded presence. So, I began walking the dogs daily—feeling my feet on the earth, breathing deeply again. I returned to gentle movement through Pilates. I swapped comfort food for nourishing meals that made me feel alive. Each small act of care was a message to myself: You matter. You’re worth tending to.

The most toxic place I lived in wasn’t my house post-divorce—it was my own mind. The narrative was cruel: You failed. You’re too old. You’re fat.  You’re unlovable. You’ll always be alone.

But I started catching those thoughts and asking, Would I say this to my daughter or my best friend? Of course not. So why was I saying them to myself?

I started journaling affirmations: I am enough. I am healing. I am lovable. I am whole. Slowly, my inner critic softened. I began rewriting my story—not as the woman who was left, but as the woman who rose

The next chapter was the most magical—and the most confronting. When your life revolves around someone else for nearly thirty years, you forget who you are outside of that. I began to remember.

I remembered I love writing.

I remembered how healing it is to dance barefoot to music I adore.

I remembered my curiosity, my dreams, my longing for meaning.

I began meditating each morning, journaling. and going on solo nature walks. I talked to my guides, my angels. I cried. I created sacred space just for me.

And slowly… the woman I was before him, and the woman I was becoming after him, started to meet. And they liked each other.

Healing isn’t a straight line. Some days you feel fierce. Other days, fragile. But both are part of the process.

Even now—with a wonderful new man in my life—grief still visits me from time to time. Milestones like our children’s weddings or the births of our grandchildren have stirred old emotions I thought I’d already processed. Moments where the “what was” collides with the “what is.”

But now, instead of meeting that sadness with shame or self-judgment, I greet it with compassion. It’s okay to hold joy in one hand and grief in the other. That’s what healing really looks like.

If you’re in the middle of your own heartbreak, here’s what I’ve learned that might help:

Care for your body: Movement, nourishment, rest. Your nervous system needs it.

Challenge your inner critic: Speak to yourself with the love you gave so freely to others.

Rediscover your essence: You are more than someone’s partner. You are a soul, a fire, a force.

Let go with love: Blame binds you to the past. Forgiveness sets you free.

You are not broken. You are rebuilding. Every tear, every setback, every breakthrough is sculpting a more radiant, wiser version of you.

About Heather Prince

Heather Prince is a spiritual relationship coach who helps women over forty heal from heartbreak and reclaim their self-worth. Her journey through divorce now fuels her mission to guide others back to wholeness. Download her free workbook, From Heartbreak to Wholeness, at fmf90.com/giftfunnels.

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