I started Life and a Latte with the intention of helping others navigate health and wellness—but always from a real place. I’m not here to preach from the mountaintop. I’m in it too. And that includes the messy, painful parts of life like heartbreak, identity loss, and finding yourself again.

So today, I want to share something deeply personal in hopes that someone who’s quietly hurting might read this and feel less alone.

After eight years of friendship, five years in a relationship, a baby together, and nearly two years engaged, my relationship with who I thought was my forever came to an end.

It may not have been a surprise to some—we had our share of highs and deep, painful lows—but I have always held the mindset that if I worked hard enough I could make anything work. I was convinced he was it for me. No one had ever understood me like he did. No one had ever challenged me intellectually. Our conversations were unlike any I’d ever had. I had never been attracted to someone so passionately.

But if I’m honest, I was chasing love. For years, I felt like I was desperate for him to love me in the way I loved him. I didn’t realize that being desired wasn’t the same thing as being valued. I ignored red flags from day one—plenty of them. I mean, he cut me off for three months while I was pregnant. That should have been enough. But I let him find his way back in and ignored my intuition.

In my grieving this loss, I have gone through the angry phase including ruminating about all of the “how could he”s and unprofessionally diagnosing him with narcissism, childhood wounds, Asperger’s and what not (still up for debate). I’ve gone through the acceptance phase, realizing that he is human and acts according to his upbringing, mental wiring, and life perspective just as we all do.

Eventually, I shifted my focus from trying to understand him to understanding me. What in me was so in need of acceptance that I allowed someone else to dim my light and make me become a smaller version of myself? Why did I never love myself enough to end things at the first sign of him being unavailable? 

At a surface level, I blamed it on me being too open-minded, too loving, too understanding, too tolerant, and always giving people the benefit of the doubt. But digging deeper, I found wounds of my own.

On paper, my childhood looked great—married parents, a stable home, consistent meals, good schools. But when I zoomed in, I realized the emotional atmosphere told a different story.

I was closest to my dad, but he was the breadwinner and often gone. My best memories with him are short but sweet: practicing multiplication tables, playing basketball, watching Lakers games. I didn’t have “daddy issues.” I had mommy wounds.

My mom was around the most but when I try to come up with memories with her I fall short. She was emotionally unavailable and dealing heavily with her own upbringing – a far more traumatic one than mine. I later realized she coped with various addictions and still does. I remember lots of yelling, crying, being spanked for not cooperating, and often feeling unprotected. I’ve grown to love my mom for who she is because she does have the biggest heart and is so selfless. I know she struggled and wanted to do her best but didn’t have any sort of model for what that looked like. I didn’t feel emotionally safe. I lacked any feeling of connection. I didn’t feel truly seen.

So when I finally found someone who filled those voids, I clung to it—even when it cost me my peace, my joy, and eventually, my sense of self. I walked on eggshells. I dimmed my light. I abandoned my dreams. I thought I was avoiding loneliness, but the truth was, I was alone the whole time. My feelings didn’t matter. My dreams didn’t matter. My needs didn’t matter. But in a twisted way this was my comfort zone.

So, where am I now?

I’m grieving the life I thought I’d have. I’m healing. And I’m trying to rebuild from what feels like ground zero.

Though the relationship made me feel small, externally I was excelling with my fitness and eating habits but it was for the wrong reasons. I felt like if I was lazy for even one day, or had just one fast food meal, I was getting judged or criticized for it. The “support” wasn’t from a place of love, it was from a place of “I wouldn’t be with you if you weren’t this type of person”.

So now, here I am. A little lost, a little liberated. I know logically that I will grow from this and find myself again, but I’m impatient with the process.

And since I’m in it, I wanted to share what I’m doing to move forward—steps that might help you too, especially if you’re in a low season.

1. Slow Down, Be Present, and Romanticize the Little Things

Even in the chaos of single parenting, teaching full-time, grading, cooking, cleaning—there are moments to savor. I’ve started noticing and cherishing:

• Five-minute meditations in my car before teaching a class
• Separating work time from kid time so I can be fully present in both
• Going on walks and mini-adventures with the kids
• Pausing to really see the beauty around me—flowers, mountains, cloudscapes
• Savoring a good latte like it’s a sacred ritual
• Taking long, hot showers
• Massages with Kai when we don’t have Keanu
• Reading again, even if just for five minutes
• Listening to soul-nourishing podcasts while driving

These small things are my lifelines.

2. Get Curious About Yourself, Reflect

Grief isn’t the end—it’s the beginning of self-discovery.

If your authentic self feels buried, let grief be the shovel—not the enemy.

You might be so used to questioning your emotions or justifying someone else’s behavior that your intuition feels quiet or confused. Reawaken it with simple questions:

• What am I feeling right now, without judgment?
• What feels true to me, even if it’s messy?
• What small thing used to light me up before I shrank myself?

Journaling—even short bursts—has helped. Try prompts like:

• Who was I before I made myself small?
• What did I stop doing to keep the peace?
• What am I craving emotionally, spiritually, creatively—right now?

3. Rebuild Self-Trust, One Tiny Step at a Time

After years of second-guessing yourself, self-trust takes time to rebuild. Start small:

• Choose meals, routines, and rituals just for you
• Check in with yourself when making decisions, ask how does this decision feel
• Follow through. Each time you honor your needs, you strengthen that muscle.

Surround yourself with reminders of who you are and who you’re becoming:

• Books and podcasts that center healing (It Begins With You, Beyond Anxiety, When Things Fall Apart, Mel Robbins, Rachel Hollis, Jillian Turecki Podcasts)
• People who reflect back the best, truest version of you
• Attend events that bring connection, even if it’s a little out of your comfort zone
• Nature, creativity, movement—anything that brings you back into your body

4. Gentle Success Over Hustle Culture

Right now, “success” doesn’t mean launching something huge or hitting the gym five days a week. It means:

• A 10-minute yoga session from YouTube
• Writing one blog paragraph, not five
• Resting without guilt
• Letting inspiration come when it’s ready

I’m learning to let softness lead.

5. Reset Your Nervous System

I’ve been living in a low-level fight-or-flight state for years. Resetting my nervous system looks like:

• Safe, predictable routines (morning walks, coffee rituals, bedtime stretches)
• Grounding practices (standing barefoot in the grass, breathing deeply, hand over heart saying: “I am safe in this moment.”)
• Reading about trauma and regulation
• Giving myself permission to feel without fixing

This is the season I’m in. It’s tender and uncertain, but also full of hope.

If you’re here too—whether grieving a breakup, a life shift, or just yourself—know this: you are not alone. Healing isn’t linear. It’s layered, messy, and slow. But it’s also sacred.

You’re allowed to fall apart and rebuild. You’re allowed to rest. You’re allowed to feel joy again.

And when you do, even just a flicker of it—savor it like a warm latte on a cold morning.

You deserve that.

xoxo Jamie Jo