Stephanie works in D.C. and lives in Virginia. Her dad owns a peanut butter company and her mom runs a sweets shop and sells fruitcake in Ohio. Please note the juxtaposition of her photo and the title and content of this post. She is currently single.

When your heart is broken, everything is more real and surreal at the same time. I can suddenly feel my fingertips. How long have they been there? How long have I been able to feel them? Everything besides my own body seems far away, and I feel removed. I am alone.

The days pass and people whisper “she’s doing so well,” “she seems really happy.” The expectations are miraculously low. I am grateful that people tip toe around the issue. My boyfriend and I broke up. Let’s not talk about it.

Let’s talk about my evenings.

I do not have to attend to my usual nightly phone call to recap our days and report on our jobs, our moods, and occasionally, our feelings.

I hung on his every word, wishing and hoping he’d end the conversation this time with “Good night, Stephie. I love you.”

He said it sometimes, but not enough. Can it ever be enough?

I don’t wait anymore. Instead, I climb into bed, not having to worry about who will be making the obligatory trek this weekend to solidify our long-distance relationship for the 1,000 time. Now, I have all the time in the world. Isn’t that what I wanted?

I guess the old adage “never go to bed angry” only applies to relationships that have not been terminated. I never liked that saying anyway.

I pray to God to heal my broken heart. There are so many people hurting for much more real reasons than mine. Should I really be praying for this? Don’t I have something better to say and feel? What about the orphans in Africa? What about Julie?

I have always believed that if things don’t work out, they weren’t meant to and something better is coming my way. Perhaps this is just one of the nice things we tell ourselves when the pillars around us come crumbling down. Something has to keep me motivated. God, please heal my broken heart.

At night, I allow myself to cry. I don’t always cry, but knowing I’m allowed to is comforting. I don’t have to worry about making a scene, messing up my makeup, or drying out my contacts. And no one has to know.

And then, I sleep. My only wish is that I won’t be sad in the morning.

The Apron Stage has given us many reasons to rejoice. We celebrated Lisa’s marriage, delighted as Sarah’s relationship developed, clung to Rebecca’s beautiful memoirs of motherhood, and watched in awe at the depth of Louise and Tom’s love that has weathered so many years. But the Apron Stage is also a place to turn to for strength, where people can empower each other by sharing in each other’s dreams and heartaches.

Today, I am the Friday guest blogger with a broken heart. But I feel some comfort–and sadness–in knowing that you have probably felt this too. God, please heal our broken hearts.