The Integrated Masculine

Where endings become beginnings

Across my years, I’ve had many relationships end for various reasons. Some were my own doing. Some were not. Each one impacted me differently. People often say that every failed relationship leaves you with a lesson to learn. I prefer to see them as opportunities—each one offered me a new mirror, a deeper cut, a new chance to evolve. They’ve brought me to the man I am today.

How I moved on from those relationships depended on the nature of the relationship itself. I recall one relationship that had become pure exhaustion. It felt like hard work, all the time. When I ended it, I felt immediate relief—no grieving period, no loneliness. In fact, that relationship left me so burnt out I didn’t want to be in another relationship for a long time. Just recently, while clearing space on my phone, I found an old text from her—the last one she ever sent me, on the day we broke up. I never responded. That was it. Done. No ceremony. No closure. Just… silence.

“Permanence is a myth—presence is what matters.“

Other times, the door didn’t close so easily. I’ve had a few relationships where we ended up getting back together after a few months apart. We missed each other. We missed what we brought out in each other. But as you might guess, those rarely last. I remember talking with a close friend who’s now married. He told me, “We live in an age where relationships just don’t last.” He and his now-wife had broken up early on, treated each other terribly during that time, and still found their way back. When I asked if he thought it would last, he shrugged and said, “I don’t think about it. I just enjoy my time in the sun.” At first it sounded depressing, but I’ve come to see the truth in it: permanence is a myth—presence is what matters.

Then there was the breakup that gutted me. I ended it reluctantly, even though the toxicity was overwhelming. She struggled with her mental health, and the way she loved me was intense—love-bombing, they call it. When it ended, I carried a relationship hangover for months. I only remembered the good moments. I questioned everything: Did I give up too soon? Could I have saved us? Even after the breakup, I kept replying to her texts, as if I hadn’t truly let go. I realise now that the day I stopped replying—that was the day I finally moved on emotionally. Every now and then, I’ll see her name pop up in my DMs, sending a reel or a meme, and my mind flickers with the thought: what if? But my heart doesn’t follow. That tells me everything.

After that, I became… selective. Intentional. I had my list. My non-negotiables. And eventually, I met someone who ticked all the boxes. She was amazing—on paper, and in person. But here’s the thing: just because something should work, doesn’t mean it will. Chemistry isn’t checklist-compatible. That was another lesson.

“Just because something should work, doesn’t mean it will.“

The stages after a breakup

Looking back, I can see now that I moved through different stages after each breakup. While no two experiences felt the same, certain patterns kept showing up. Here’s how I’d describe the journey:

1. Shock & withdrawal

The initial rupture. Sometimes it’s numbing; other times it’s a flood of emotion. My most common symptom is a complete loss of appetite—that can last days or even weeks. Even if you were the one to end it, there’s a disorientation that comes when something familiar falls away.

Practice: Let it land. Cry. Sit in stillness. Breathe. Let the silence speak.

2. Craving & bargaining

The mind starts romanticising. You scroll through old photos. You imagine how it could have been different. Maybe you even text them. Phone conversations late at night. You crave what you miss—but often, it’s not them, it’s the version of you who felt loved. Sit with that thought for a moment.

Practice: Journal. Write unsent letters. Ask, “What is it that I really miss?”

3. Grief & despair

The ache sets in. You mourn not just the person, but the future you imagined together. This is where the soul work begins.

Practice: Allow the sadness. Lean on friends. Talk to a therapist. Let your heart break open.

4. Anger & reclamation

Anger surfaces. Maybe you feel betrayed. Maybe you feel foolish. Maybe you’re just tired of feeling small. Anger, when clean, is fuel for reclaiming your power. Taking this anger into the gym can fuel some serious PB’s!

Practice: Move your body. Set boundaries. Say what you never let yourself say—just not to them.

5. Reflection & responsibility

You begin to ask: What part did I play? What patterns do I carry? Recognising that you are the common denominator. This is the moment of masculine accountability—not to blame, but to understand.

Practice: Shadow work. Therapy. Honest conversations with yourself. Blog entries where you own your shortcomings. Radical ownership.

6. Integration & clarity

You start to feel you again. You learn to sit with solitude instead of filling the void. Your standards shift—not out of fear, but from clarity.

Practice: Meditation. Cold plunges. Return to your purpose. Redefine what love means to you.

7. Reemergence & new vision

You’re not just healed—you’re reborn. You carry wisdom now. You date differently. You lead with presence. You love more consciously.

Practice: Create. Connect. Serve. Love again—with boundaries and intention.

8. Awakening & enlightenment

Eventually, you stop seeing the breakup as a failure—and start seeing it as a teacher. You’re not looking back with pain, or forward with fear. You’re just… here. Present. Grateful. Whole.

Practice: Live. Let love flow through you—not to possess, but to radiate.

“Breakups don’t end when the relationship does. The real ending comes when you meet yourself again.“

Healing isn’t linear

I found myself in a familiar place shortly after yet again. And in some ways, I repeated patterns—attempting to heal an emotional wound with a physical band-aid.
Downloading the dating apps and swiping mindlessly, looking for someone to ease the silence in my notifications.
Listening to all the most emotional Taylor Swift songs (cue—Back To December).

They’re normal reactions.
That voice in the back of your head questioning if you’ll end up as just another lonely millennial, destined to live by yourself, love yourself, and raise a child in anything other than the traditional family structure.

But in other ways, I find myself growing exponentially.
Taking the quiet moments and turning them into opportunities for growth.
Challenging myself in new ways. Setting goals, both short and long term. Putting myself into environments I’m uncomfortable in.
Not just reading and talking about the Goggins mindset of “Get comfortable being uncomfortable” — wearing it on my sleeve. Making it a mantra.

And the biggest difference? Creativity.
The more I channel thoughts and emotions through journaling, writing, blogging, or content creating, the more I want to create.
Could a TIM Podcast be in the works? You’ll have to wait and see.

“Healing isn’t linear. It’s a dance, not a finish line.“

So… where am I now?

So you might be wondering… where am I in these stages now?
Truthfully—somewhere between Integration/Clarity and Reemergence/New Vision.
But some days, I may go forwards or backwards. Sometimes the smallest things can remind us of the deepest feelings.

But that’s okay. I am human, as are we all. And it’s okay to heal at our own pace, in our own ways.

I hope you’ve enjoyed reading this week’s entry of The Integrated Masculine.
If you’ve got any thoughts you’d like to share about your own healing journeys, I’d love to hear them in the comment section below!

— TIM