Throughout the past ten years, novel concepts regarding separations have emerged, including the notion of conscious uncoupling. Such notions encourage us to approach breakups deliberately and reconsider our strategies for moving forward following the dissolution of a partnership.
Studies into the emotional phases of relationship endings are thriving, and preconceptions regarding gender disparities during breakups are being examined. However, what about how Do we actually deal with breakups?
As a psychologist, I believe we are overlooking crucial aspects when considering relationship endings.
As a therapist, I have assisted numerous couples in intentionally ending their relationships. Being present at the precipice of these partnerships has taught me that comprehending why they falter holds greater significance for regaining joy than simply moving past them.
Workshops for breakups, counselors, virtual support groups, and even friends urge us to "release our grip," "progress forward," and "rediscover ourselves."
There are numerous conflicting messages: "Give yourself permission to mourn, but also try to move forward immediately; avoid staying just friends, yet consider maintaining friendships; dive into online dating, but refrain from getting back online for some time."
Of course, all this guidance is meant kindly, yet it holds little practical worth.
The focus is on the future, on the next thing, rather than the moment at hand. But breakups can be windows into how we form our deepest attachments, and why they may fracture.
Shutting that window abruptly, without taking the time to introspect, represents a missed chance for development. Conclusions tend to evoke our deepest and most anxious aspects of ourselves.
Inspired by psychologists John Bowlby and Mary Ainsworth's theory of attachment styles—avoidant, anxious and disorganized—I coined five distinct breakup traits that I've noticed in my patients—not including abuse—that have helped me better understand how to counsel them.
The Victim
I once had a 53-year-old patient who came to see me about her faltering relationship. She complained about feeling unseen and invalidated in her marriage for a decade.
Her regular, angry fights with her husband brought her to tears and rage in almost every session. Finally, one day, she told me that her husband had asked for a divorce.
She said, "How could he do this to me? Why doesn't he want me? Why won't he stay? What did I do wrong?"
My patient was exhibiting the "victim" style of breakup.
The victim swings between feeling wronged, deserving better and blaming themselves. They want a close relationship but struggle with issues of trust.
When the end comes, they are often bitter, believing that their partner has taken something from them, even if they initiated the breakup.
The victim is generally deep in their own viewpoint—they might not be a narcissist, but their stance may appear to be narcissistic.
Based on what I've seen, victims frequently have parents who failed to establish clear limits during their upbringing, thus depriving them of emotional stability.
I provided guidance to my client, encouraging her to create room for understanding her partner’s perspective. I suggested she reflect on this question: “To what extent am I accountable for the deterioration of our connection?” Rather than pointing fingers at each other, I recommended focusing on cultivating compassion and exploring unmet needs from both sides, which might lead to improvement moving forward.
The Martyr
A different patient, considerably younger, entered my office engulfed in tears. During our initial session, she exclaimed between sobs, “My partner is relocating to Seattle, which led us to break up.” She added despondently, “Naturally, something like this happens to me!” Throwing up her hands, she continued, “Good things simply aren’t meant for someone like me. They’ll never come my way.”
This patient fit the typical profile of a "martyr." For them, the end of the relationship served as evidence that they do not deserve joy. They frequently find solace in the familiar yet unfulfilling embrace of melancholy.
The martyr, like the victim, is closed off to input and similarly inflexible. They might have had parents who were withholding, invalidating or under-involved. They have a history shrinking themselves to feel tolerable to the people around them, and are more comfortable giving than taking.
I worked with my tearful patient on practicing taking up more space in her relationships. She might ask herself: "What is at stake for me personally if I develop my own voice and ask for my needs to be met in my future relationships?" Martyrs should question in what ways they get gratification through self-abnegation.
The Denier
"Ok, so she had an affair. Sure, it was for three years," sighs a middle-aged gentleman, sitting on my office couch.
"I mention, 'It was with your friend,'" she says.
He replies, but it isn’t really a huge issue.
The person who denies steers clear of reality and blocks out their pain and rage. They frequently downplay the aspects that didn’t function within the partnership and paint their significant other’s positive motives in an overly favorable light.
Typically, the denier’s misrepresentation of reality has a rigid, fragile quality. These individuals frequently carry burdensome family secrets from which they subconsciously fear an unintended revelation.
The detachment they developed as a defense mechanism during a tumultuous or traumatic upbringing turns detrimental in their close relationships. Inhibiting the grief from their separation is unfortunately an extension of their familial background.
The denier, like my patient, should ask themselves: "How am I running away from intimacy?" They should investigate why expressing emotion—particularly anger—scares them so. Also, they might take a closer look at what would happen if they allowed themselves to feel all the emotions they're so determined to avoid.
The Bewildered
"I don't know what happened—he's just not living in the house anymore," my patient tells me about her husband.
"Did he say anything?" I ask.
She gazes at me emptily, strangely aloof. "No clue," she says.
Not knowing about such an apparently significant matter clearly indicates that my patient is experiencing a "confused" type of breakup.
People who are bewildered tend to be deeply confused after a breakup and react to their loss by feeling immobilized. They frequently struggle to perform simple tasks such as sleeping and eating. These individuals might have experienced significant fear or what they interpreted as fear during their formative years.
The individuals responsible for their care, intended to be guardians, may have inadvertently made them feel unsafe or perhaps induced fear into their lives. Those who often find themselves confused typically harbor significant anxieties about being abandoned.
Because they are so detached from themselves, the bewildered should seek outside help or guidance. They should be pushed to ask themselves: "What red flags in my relationships have I been ignoring?" They should also explore the attention they are paying to their own suffering.
The Visionary
"My heart is breaking over this; I just can't handle it," my patient lamented as she buried her face in her hands.
"Well, I think you're made of stronger stuff than that," I told her. "I know that this is hard, but I also think you can stand it."
"I am strong, aren't I?" she looks up, her eyes shining. "I will be ok, I think."
"Yes, but also—let's explore how you can grow from this."
The visionary sees breakups as opportunities. They allow in anger, depression, and fear because they see these emotions as constructive.
For them, "moving on" presents an opportunity to clarify what they truly desire and lack in a partnership, along with understanding the underlying reasons. Typically, their upbringing fostered introspection and adaptability in managing emotions.
The visionary should continue to deepen their ability to learn from the grief that accompanies loss. They should track the emotional patterns that their breakup revealed and give words to the meaning of these patterns.
They will benefit from asking themselves: "What makes me feel most seen in relationships, and how do I get that in my next one?"
My work with couples has convinced me that breakups are never just about endings or losses—they are about identity.
Yes, it's incredibly sad and complicated to lose someone with whom you've shared love and intimacy, whether you are ready to let go or not. But the hardest part about breakups is answering the question: Who am I now?
Understanding your breakup style can help you recognize your limiting patterns—and lay the groundwork for breaking out of them.
Sarah Gundle , PsyD, is a psychologist in private practice and an assistant professor at the Icahn School of Medicine, Mount Sinai Medical Center. She is currently writing a book about breakups.
All views expressed are the author's own.
Do you have a unique experience or personal story to share? Email the My Turn team at myturn@Pawonation.com .
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