← On Purpose with Jay Shetty
On Purpose with Jay Shetty
Still Thinking About Your Ex? (Use This 2-Step Reset to Stop the Spiral for Good!)
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The ones that you basically turned into a soundtrack for a movie about the two of you, your relationship. A movie that's much better than the relationship actually was. You've been checking their Instagram, maybe not their main feed, you're smarter than that. But their stories for sure. At 1am trying to figure out who that person in the background of the photo is. You've been having conversations with them in your head. Long, articulate, emotionally devastating conversations where you finally say everything you should have said and they finally understand and something resolves. And then you come back to reality and they haven't texted. And somehow that hurts more than the imaginary conversation. You've been doing the math. How many days since you last spoke. Whether they're thinking about you, what they're doing right now. Whether the thing you said in that argument three months before the end was the thing that actually ended it. And in your most honest moments, the 3am ones or the Tuesday afternoon ones, when you're supposed to be working, you've been telling yourself a story. The story goes something like this. It was so good. I've never felt that way before. I don't know if I'll ever feel that way ever again. Maybe we gave up too soon. Maybe they were the one. I'm going to need you to sit with me for 30 minutes today because I need to tell you something about that story. About your brain. About what's actually happening when you romanticize your ex, when you romanticize someone you've lost. And about what's waiting for you on the other side of this spiral, if you're willing to walk through it rather than loop it around forever. This is not a you'll be fine pep talk. This is not toxic positivity wearing a therapy speak costume. This is the real thing. The neuroscience, the psychology, the ancient wisdom, and the practical tools. Because you deserve the actual truth more than you deserve to feel temporarily soothed. Ready? Let's go. This is the harsh truth. Your brain is lying to you. And I want to share with you the neuroscience of why they seem perfect now that they're gone. Let's start with the most important thing. The person you are missing does not exist. Not. Doesn't exist anymore. Not exists, but is different now. Not exists, but is with someone else. The specific person you're currently grieving, the one who appears in the photos you keep returning to, the one who stars in the mental highlight reel you keep playing. The one who felt irreplaceable and perfect and like coming home. That person is a construction, a story your brain is telling you. And your brain right now is a profoundly unreliable narrator. Here's why. When we experience loss, the brain does something that is genuinely astonishing from a neuroscience perspective and genuinely cruel from a human one. It edits. Memory is not a recording. We have known this in psychology for decades, but it runs counter to how memory feels. We experience our memories as faithful replications of what happened. They're not. Every time you retrieve a memory, you're not playing it back. You're reconstructing it. And Every reconstruction is influenced by your current emotional state, your current needs, and your current narrative about who you are and what your life means. This was established definitively by the cognitive psychologist Elizabeth Loftus, one of the most important and most underappreciated scientists of the 20th century. Her research on memory distortion showed that human memory is extraordinarily malleable. We add details that weren't there. We remove details that were there. We unconsciously rewrite what happened to fit what we believe, what we feel, and what we need to be true. Now apply that to a relationship you've just lost. Your brain is in a state of loss, and in a state of loss. The brain is a very specific and predictable bias. It amplifies the positive and suppresses the negative in memories of what was lost. This is not a quirk. This is not weakness. This is a documented neurological phenomenon. The moments of warmth, connection, laughter, and intimacy get vivid. The chronic pattern of dismissal. The way they made you feel small in front of their friends. The way they went cold when you needed the most. The Sunday arguments that always circled the same drain. Those get fuzzy, dimmed, explained away. You end up remembering a relationship that was approximately 40% better than the one you actually had. And here's the other thing happening in your brain simultaneously when you were in the relationship, your brain's reward system, the dopamine circuits, adapted to the presence of your partner. They became a predicted reward, something your brain had learned to anticipate and plan around. When the relationship ends, that reward prediction is suddenly, violently disrupted, and the disruption of a predicted reward is neurologically identical to withdrawal. This is not metaphor. Researchers at Rutgers University, Helen Fisher and her colleagues put people who had recently been rejected in romantic relationships into an FMRI scanner and showed them photos of their ex. This will shock you. The brain regions that activated were the same ones that activate in cocaine addiction. The ventral tegmental area, the obsessive thinking, the physical ache, the craving, the compulsive checking behavior. These are not signs of how deep your love was. They are signs of withdrawal. You're not pining for a person. You're detoxing from a neurochemical. And here's where it gets even more interesting and more uncomfortable. The brain doesn't just romanticize by boosting the positive memories. It also uses a mechanism called deprivation amplification. Things we cannot have become more desirable, not despite their unavailability, but because of it. The psychological literature calls this reactance. When something is taken away, we instinctively want it more, independent of how much we actually wanted it before. Think about that for a second. You might be partially in love with the unavailability itself. You might be confusing the ache of deprivation, the biological screaming of a reward system that's been cut off, with evidence of exceptional, irreplaceable love. Not because you're foolish, but because you're human. There's a line I think about all the time from Viktor Frankl between stimulus and response. There is space. In that space is our power to choose our response. Understanding what's happening in your brain right now is that space. It is the difference between being controlled by that neurological process and being able to look at it, name it, and make a different choice. So let's look at the other thing your brain is doing. Let's look at the story. The story you're telling is fiction. There's a difference between your highlight reel and the full picture. There's a concept in cognitive behavioral therapy called selective abstraction. The tendency to focus on one element of a situation while ignoring the broader context. To take a fragment and let it represent the whole. We do this all the time, right? You judge someone based on your first interaction. In plain language, you're watching the trailer for your relationship, not the film, the trailer. Trailers, as you know, are masterpieces of selective editing. Have you ever been to the theaters and you watch a trailer before the movie that you're going for and then you think, oh, I can't wait to watch that movie. Then you watch that movie and every joke was in the trailer, every action moment was in the trailer, every beautiful romantic moment was in the trailer. And the movie was average. Every great line, every beautiful image, every moment of connection and tenderness and electricity cut together to make you want see the movie. The trailer for a mediocre film can make it look like the most important cinematic experience of your lifetime. If you've just gone through a breakup, this is what your brain is doing. It has cut a three minute trailer for a two year relationship and you have watched that trailer so many times that you've started to believe the trailer is the relationship. So I want to do something with you that's going to be uncomfortable and I want you to do it honestly. I want you to watch the full film. Not to be cruel, not to demonize them or to erase what was real and good, but because you cannot make clear eyed decisions about your own recovery, about whether you should reach out, about whether this deserves to be mourned or released, about what you actually want. If you're working from a distorted source, think about the Thing that ended it. Not the surface event, the argument, the moment, the conversation, the actual underlying pattern, the pattern that kept reasserting itself, that you kept hoping would change, that never quite did. What was it? Was it that they made you feel like an afterthought? That your needs were inconvenient? That they were emotionally unavailable in a way that made you work constantly for reassurance? You should have just been given that there was always something more important than you. The job, the friends, the general principle of their independence. Or was it something in you, a pattern of your own, that this relationship was surfacing, an anxious attachment style that turned you into someone you didn't like, a habit of losing yourself in someone else until you couldn't find the edges of where you ended and they began. Whatever the pattern was, it was real, it was consistent, and it did not go away. And if you got back together tomorrow, it would still be there, still consistent, still real, with the added weight of everything that's happened since. One of my favorite Buddhist teachings is, cannot step in the same river twice. The river changes and you change as well. What you're trying to return to doesn't exist anymore. The relationship of the highlight reel is not a place you can go back to. It was barely even a place you were actually at. Psychologist John Gottman, who has spent 40 years studying couples, identified what he calls the Four Horsemen of Relationship contempt, criticism, defensiveness, and stonewalling. And his research found that by the time relationships end, these patterns have usually been present and consistent for an average of six years before the breakup. Six years. Which means you probably have evidence, memories, feelings, moments, that the relationships had these patterns for a long time. But those memories are now fuzzy, explained away, rewritten as misunderstandings or your fault or understandable given their circumstances, because your editing brain has decided the relationship was better than it was. I'm not saying it wasn't real. I'm not saying it didn't matter. I'm not saying there wasn't love or beauty or genuine connection. There probably wasn't. And that's what makes it harder, not easier. Because you're not mourning a lie. You're mourning something that had real value and real limitations simultaneously. And the human brain finds that complexity almost impossible to hold. Here's the questions I want you to ask yourself after a breakup. Who were you when you were in that relationship? Were you more yourself or less yourself? Were you growing toward who you want to be? Or were you just tolerating, accommodating, shrinking, or performing? Were you genuinely seen or Were you constantly trying to be seen and often failing? Because your answer to that question tells you something far more important than whether they were wonderful. It tells you whether the relationship was actually good for you. Now here's what you're actually grieving. And surprisingly, it's not them. It's something much older. This is the part of the episode where I need you to stay with me. Because this is the hardest part and also the most important. When someone comes to me or a trusted friend and says, I can't stop thinking about my ex. I think I made a mistake. I think they were the one. There is almost always something underneath the grief about the specific person that doesn't get examined, because grief is not simple and romantic Grief is almost never just about the person in front of you. The psychologist and attachment researcher Sue Johnson has spent her career studying what happens in the nervous system when intimate connection is threatened or lost. And what she found is that adult romantic attachment doesn't operate in isolation. It operates on the top of the entire architecture of attachment you've been building since you were an infant. When your earliest caregivers were consistent and responsive, you developed what's called a secure attachment style. You learned at the level of the nervous system programming before language even existed, that people are safe, that you're worthy of love, and that separation is temporary, that you can let people go and they will come back, or if they don't, you will survive and find connection again. When your earliest caregivers were inconsistent or absent or overwhelming or emotionally unavailable, you developed a different program. You might have anxious attachment the constant background hum that love is precarious, that you have to work to maintain it, that the other person's withdrawal is evidence that you've done something wrong or avoid an attachment. The learned belief that needing people is dangerous, that you're better off not needing, that closeness is a trap. Most people reading this most people doing the 3am spiral are not just grieving a relationship. They are re experiencing a very old wound. The grief about this person is a portal into a grief that has been sitting in the body for much longer. The anxious, attached person isn't just missing their ex. They are re experiencing every moment in childhood when love felt conditional, when approval could be earned, and then suddenly withdrawn when they tried their very hardest and it still wasn't enough. The avoidant person, who is pretending to be fine and yet finds themselves inexplicably devastated isn't just managing a breakup. They are brushing against the thing they've spent their whole life running from. The terrifying evidence that they needed someone and then lost them. I'm not saying this to psychoanalyze you, but to offer something critical, compassion for the scale of what you're actually carrying. Stop hating yourself for not getting over your ex. You're not weak because this is so hard. You're not pathetic because you can't stop thinking about them. You're a person who formed a deep attachment that is connected to something much larger and older and more foundational than this one relationship. And when that attachment is disrupted, the pain reaches all the way down into that original wound. As shocking as this sounds, this is actually good news, because it means the healing you do right now, if you can do it properly, if you do it honestly, is not just about getting over this person. It is about attending to something that has needed attention for a very long time. This breakup, as terrible as it feels, is also an invitation. The Zen teacher Pema Chodron writes about something she calls groundlessness, the terrifying experience of having the floor fall away from under you, of being in free fall with nothing solid to grab. And she argues, counterintuitively, provocatively, that groundlessness is not a problem to be solved. It is the most spiritual condition available to a human being, because when the ground falls away, you discover whether you are standing on solid ground at all, or whether you were standing on the illusion of someone else holding you up. The spiral of romanticizing your ex is, at its core, the desperate attempt to find the floor again, to go back to the thing that felt like solid ground. But the floor was never solid. It was a person, which means it was always going to move. Stop romanticizing your ex. You're not missing them. You're missing the version they showed you before you saw the full picture. You're not missing them. You're missing the future you already planned in your head. You're not missing them. You're missing feeling chosen. You're not missing them. You're just not ready to let go of the story yet. But you will be if you've gone through a breakup. The work, the real work, is not to find new ground to stand on. It's to find yourself standing without anything to lean on in the groundlessness for long enough to realize you were always capable of standing alone. There's a Japanese concept called mono no aware, often translated as the pathos of things, the bitter sweetness of impermanence, the particular beauty and sadness that comes from knowing that nothing lasts. The Japanese don't treat impermanence as a problem. They treat it as the very thing that gives experience its beauty. Cherry blossoms are the most revered symbol in Japanese culture, not despite the fact that they fall in a week because of it. What you had was real. What you had could have been beautiful in parts. And it is gone. And all three of those things are true simultaneously. And sitting with that truth, all of it, without rewriting the ending, without fantasy editing it into something it wasn't, without bargaining with the past or that person, is not resignation. It is not giving up. It is the most courageous thing you can do. The willingness to feel the full beauty of something that is over. Now. Let me tell you how to actually do that. How to interrupt the spiral. How to work with your brain instead of being controlled by it. Because knowing the science doesn't make it stop hurting, but it does change what you do with the hurt. Let me be really honest with you about breakups. There is no version of getting over someone that doesn't involve feeling it. There's no cognitive hack that bypasses grief. There is no framework that makes this painless. There are two types of pain. The first is the pain that moves you, that transforms you, that carries you somewhere new. And then there's the pain that loops. The pain that keeps you exactly where you are, circling the same drain for months or years, pretending to be the depth of feeling when it's actually just a broken record. I've been thinking a lot about how the spaces around us affect how we feel, and for the longest time, my outdoor space just wasn't somewhere I wanted to be. It kind of became this place I'd walk past instead of sitting in. The seating wasn't that comfortable, the setup felt a bit off, and I kept saying I'd make it nicer, add some lighting, make it feel calmer. But I never actually did. And then I found Wayfair. What I liked was how easy it was to actually find things that fit the vibe I had in mind. I could filter everything, read real reviews, and feel confident about what I was choosing instead of second guessing it. Now it's completely different. I actually look forward to being out there, having my morning tea, slowing down in the evening, catching up with friends. It finally feels like an extension of my space, not an afterthought. If you've been meaning to create a space that feels more like you, this is a really good place to start. Get prepped for the patio season for Way less head to Wayfair.com right now to shop all things home. That's W A Y f a I r.com Wayfair Every style Every home Wayfair, Every style, Every home. This show is sponsored by BetterHelp. You know, the other night I found myself lying awake just thinking about everything. Work, life, the future and trying to piece it all together on my own. And may being Mental Health Awareness Month feels like a gentle reminder that whatever you're carrying, you don't have to carry it alone. Life comes in waves. Some days feel calm, others feel overwhelming. And when things feel heavy, we tend to stay in our own heads, trying to make sense of it all without letting anyone in. But having someone to talk to, someone who listens without judgment, can change how we move through it. Therapy gives you that space. And with BetterHelp, you're matched with a licensed therapist who follows a strict code of conduct so you know you're speaking to someone qualified and professional. You're also connected to a global network of over 30,000 therapists, making it the world's largest online therapy platform. They've served over 6 million people globally, and it works with an average rating of 4.9 out of 5 from over 1.7 million client reviews. If you've been feeling anxious, stuck or unsure lately, you're not alone. So many people are navigating the same feelings quietly this month. Take a moment to check in with yourself, and if you need support, allow yourself to receive it. You don't have to be on this journey alone. Find support and have someone with you in therapy. Sign up and get 10% off@betterhelp.com JSTOP3 that's better. H E L P.com JSTOP3 When Riley and I started Jooni, our sparkling tea brand, I quickly realized that building a business isn't just about big ideas. It's about the little things that make people actually want to buy. Come back and trust what you do. For us, Shopify has been the foundation. It's where we built our storefront, where people experience the brand and where we've been able to grow while truly owning that relationship with our customers. And something I've come to really appreciate is shop pay. You've probably seen that purple button at checkout. It makes everything simple, one click fast, seamless. As a business owner, that means fewer abandoned carts. As a customer, it just feels easier. And that trust matters. As more people discover Joony, it's reassuring to know that the experience is smooth from start to finish, because when the process feels effortless, people come back. If you've ever thought about starting a business, this is your sign. Get started@shopify.com J. Here's how you get to the pain that moves you. Tool number one, the no contact rule. And I want to talk to you about why it's actually biology. You've heard about no contact, but you may not know the real reason it works. And the real reason is not about playing games or winning the breakup or making them miss you. The real reason is neurological. Every time you check their social media, you are feeding the addiction. You are reactivating the dopamine circuit. You are telling your neural pathways this is still relevant. Keep tracking it. Your brain cannot begin to withdraw, cannot begin to heal while you keep administering micro doses of the drug. No contact is not punishment. No contact is detox. And it includes the things you're pretending don't count. The casual social media check that you tell yourself is harmless. The friendly text you're composing in your head. The driving past where they live. Every one of these is a hit. Every one of these restarts the clock on withdrawal. You're not cutting them off because you're cold. You're cutting off the supply because you're trying to heal. Those are completely different things. Stop checking their feed. They're not coming back because you watch their story. They're not coming back because you like something from 47 weeks ago at 2am they're not coming back because you figured out who that person in their photo is. They're not coming back because you've refreshed their profile 11 times today. They're not coming back but your pieces the second you stop looking. Tool number two. The full picture exercise. I want you to do something tonight. If you're brave enough. Take a piece of paper. Draw a line down the middle. On the left side, write down the things you genuinely miss. The real things, not the imagined perfect version. The actual things that were good and real and valuable. On the right side, write down the things you've been selectively forgetting. The pattern that kept repeating. The way you felt bad on days which were more frequent than your highlight reel admits. The specific moments where you felt unseen or dismissed or too much or not enough. The days you cried. Write down who you were on your worst days in that relationship. Write down the cost. Personally, professionally, to your family. This isn't bitterness. It's not revenge. It's accuracy. You're correcting your memories. Editing. You're forcing your brain to hold the full picture rather than just the trailer. Tool number three. Interrupt the spiral. Literally, the romanticizing spiral is a thought pattern. And thought patterns are neurological pathways, neural circuits that have been strengthened through repetition. Every time you indulge the spiral, you strengthen the pathway. Every time you interrupt it, you begin to weaken it. It's not suppression. Forcing yourself to not think about something. Actually, this increases the frequency of the thought. It's the don't think about a pink elephant problem. The harder you try not to think about the pink elephant, you think about the pink elephant. What works instead is what neuroscientists call pattern interruption. A brief but genuine redirect of neural attention to something that requires full cognitive engagement. When the spiral starts, when you catch your hand moving toward their Instagram, when the imaginary conversation begins, when the maybe we gave up too soon story starts playing, you do something that requires your genuine attention immediately. Something physical works best. A short, vigorous walk, cold water on your face. Five push ups. Something that activates your body and breaks the cognitive loop. Then, and this is key, you do not fight the feeling. You name it. I am experiencing a craving for this person. Just that. The simple act of naming an emotion, what neuroscientists call affect labeling, activates the prefrontal cortex and measurably reduces activity in the amygdala. You move the feeling from the reactive part of your brain to to the observing part. You become the person watching the spiral rather than the person inside it. Tool number four. Rebuild identity, not find yourself. I know find yourself is tired advice. Bear with me, because this is different, I promise. One of the most underappreciated effects of a significant relationship ending is what psychologists call self concept contraction. In a long or deep relationship, your identity expands. You become someone who is part of a we. You have shared friends, shared routines, shared references, shared futures. When the relationship ends, that whole dimension of identity collapses. You don't just lose the person, you lose the version of yourself that existed in relation to them. The antidote is not to immediately seek a new relationship to fill the gap, but to actively rebuild your own independent self concept to recover your own narrative. This means what did you stop doing when you were in that relationship? What did you let atrophy? What parts of yourself did you set aside to make room for the we Friendships you let drift, interests you, Abandoned ambitions you quietly shelved the parts of you that existed before them and are still there waiting. Go find them. Not as therapy, not as distraction, as recovery of self. Every time you do something that is purely, authentically yours, something that reflects who you are independently of any relationship, you are rebuilding the self concept that the relationship and the breakup have eroded. You are answering the question, who am I without them? And discovering that the answer is more than you remembered. Please stop making excuses for them in your mind. Don't forget how small they made you feel. Don't forget they had every chance to choose you. Don't forget the excuses you made for them. Don't forget you cried because of this person more than once. Don't forget how many times they disappointed you and you stayed anyway. Please don't forget your worth. Please don't forget you deserved more than what they gave you. Please don't forget you always gave them the benefit of the doubt. Please don't forget you always saw the good in them and receive the bad. Please don't forget you bent over backwards when they barely moved. Please don't forget someone who deserves you won't make you question if you're enough Tool Number five Let the grief be grief. Don't dress it up as love. This is the hardest one and the most important. Grief is grief. It needs to be felt, not managed, not optimized, not rushed through or bypassed or processed into insight before it's ready. Grief is a biological process, the nervous system integrating a loss. And it takes the time it takes. But there is a crucial difference between grief and romanticization. Grief moves. It comes in waves. Intense, then quiet, then intense again, gradually spacing out. It doesn't ask you to do anything except feel it. It doesn't require you to figure out whether they were the one or whether you made a mistake or whether you should text them. It just hurts and then hurts less and then hurts again. And eventually, if you don't keep feeding it, it hurts differently. Not as a wound, but as a scar, as evidence of something real that changed you, that you remember. Romanticizing a relationship doesn't help you move forward. It loops. It keeps you in a story. It asks you to stay in the question what if, maybe, perhaps if only because the story needs you to stay in it, to stay alive. The story is not serving your grief, it's serving itself. So let yourself grief, actually grief. Feel the loss. Feel the sadness. Feel the particular ache of missing someone who is genuinely important to you. That grief is true, that grief is healthy, that grief is the right response to loss. Just don't let the grief become a story that keeps you from moving through it. Feel it, and then let it move. You've been telling yourself that you're holding on to them because of how much you love them. I want to offer you a different possibility. You've been holding on to the story of them because it's safer than the thing on the other side of letting go on the other side of letting go is the open question of what comes next, the terrifying freedom of not being defined by this grief, the vulnerability of being a available to yourself, to life, to whoever might come next without the protection of still being someone's ex. On the other side of letting go is the work of figuring out who you actually are. Not in relation to them, not in comparison to what you had. Just you standing in your own life, making choices from your own center, building something from where you actually are rather than from where you wish you still were. But here's what I know. The love that is coming for you, the life that is waiting for you, is not located in the past. It is not in the photos you keep looking back to, or the songs you keep listening to, or the imaginary conversations where they finally understand. It is in front of you in the version of yourself that has been through something real and survived it, and learned things you couldn't have learned any other way. I really hope that this episode helps you. I hope you'll pass it on to a friend who may be going through this right now. Thank you for trusting me. Remember, I'm always in your corner and I'm forever rooting for you.
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If you love this episode, you're going to love my conversation with Matthew Hussey on how to get over your ex and find true love in your relationships.
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