They Filled You Up, Then They Emptied You: What to Do with the Residue of Hurt?

When someone who filled our lives with meaning leaves, we face empty spaces where connection once existed. This void needs compassionate attention as we heal and rediscover our wholeness and joy.

A photo of me at dusk, contemplating the ocean's rhythmic tides—captured using a tripod

“They filled me up, then they emptied me as well.”

I'm sharing a very classic scenario that resonates with many.

Someone enters into your life unexpectedly, like a warm ray of sunshine on a cold winter day, and you feel that this person brings an abundance of joy, hope, healing, and genuine care into your existence. Their presence feels like a gift, a blessing that you never anticipated but now cannot imagine living without.

And slowly, almost imperceptibly at first, you start to fall for that love. Each interaction, each shared moment, each laugh and conversation builds upon the previous one. And after some time, what began as a gentle attraction transforms into complete, all-encompassing love, guided by that consistent care, unwavering attention, and the beautiful environment it creates around you. Metaphorically speaking, you feel that they have filled you up completely — your emotional cup overflows with their presence, and you don't need anyone else in your life to feel complete. You don't even want to glance in another direction. Your heart is full to the brim, your life is rich with meaning, your world is colored with vibrant hues of happiness. You find yourself in a state of contentment, satisfied deeply, living what seems like a perfect, regular life blessed with extraordinary love.

And then after some time — it may be after a few weeks, a few months, or even a few years, as there's no predetermined timeline or deadline for these shifts — you begin to notice subtle new patterns emerging in your dynamic. The same person who appeared in your life like a farishta, like a divine being sent to bless your existence, slowly starts to cause you hurt, begins to forget the promises they once made with such conviction, starts to change in ways both small and significant. And yet, you still feel that fullness, that completeness, and you continue to navigate your life, deliberately ignoring those warning signals, dismissing them as temporary aberrations rather than indicators of a deeper change.

And things continue to shift beneath your feet, like tectonic plates slowly but inexorably moving. They continue to shift until the ground no longer feels solid. And eventually, you reach a point where it becomes an unbearable burden to ignore those signals, those actions that speak louder than words ever could. Finally, you gather your courage and open up a conversation, initiate a dialog about what's happening between you, and that dialog reveals a reality totally opposite from what existed just a couple of weeks, months, or years ago. There's tension where there was once ease, there's confusion where there was clarity, there's distance where there was closeness — there's a lot going on beneath the surface that neither of you had been acknowledging.

You try desperately to mend the fracturing relationship through different approaches — perhaps with patience, with communication, with compromise, with love. Probably the other person also attempts to mend it in their own ways, according to their understanding of what's broken. But despite these efforts, you start to notice increasingly deep cracks forming in the foundation of what you built together, and one devastating day, you come to the painful realization that the same person who once filled your world with light has made a decision that changes everything. They either decided to leave you, or created circumstances that forced you to leave, or did something so fundamental that your connection is irrevocably severed. And you notice, with a heart heavy with grief, that the same person who once filled you up has now completely, utterly emptied you of that joy, that hope, that sense of wholeness they once provided.

Countless people have the same story throughout their lives — a universal experience of human connection and loss. You encounter these narratives everywhere. I personally hear these kinds of heartbreaking stories from friends, relatives, and throughout my social circles with remarkable frequency. I've spent considerable time trying to understand how one might find healing and rediscover joy during those moments when the heart is most broken, shattered into unrecognizable pieces. There's an overwhelming hollowness that pervades every aspect of existence, a profound sadness that colors every thought, a persistent gloominess that dims even the brightest days, an acute loneliness that makes you feel isolated even in crowded rooms, a raw vulnerability that makes you question your judgment — there's everything painful all at once, washing over you in waves that threaten to pull you under.

One perspective, however, really, truly gives me solace when confronting this universal pain. It's the understanding that everyone who enters into our lives—doesn't matter if that person is a special romantic partner or just a casual friend, or some other type of connection formed in some other context—is around us only temporarily. This is the nature of human relationships. A significant portion of our connections are fundamentally dictated by factors beyond our control. Dictated by circumstances, dictated by changing needs, dictated by individual growth, dictated by some form of self-interest that we may not immediately recognize.

So I personally came to a profound conclusion that has transformed my approach to relationships: when we welcome someone into our life with open arms and open hearts, we should simultaneously prepare ourselves for their eventual departure. It doesn't matter how caring, attentive, or loving that person appears to be, doesn't matter how wonderful, exceptional, or irreplaceable that person seems — we must be mentally and emotionally ready for their departure from the very first day of connection. And surprisingly, this perspective, rather than making me cynical, has given me tremendous balance, healing, and deeper understanding in navigating my connections. When forming new connections, I say to myself, "Okay, this person is great, awesome, so wonderful, so nice, and I will enjoy their presence fully — but one day, this person will choose their own path that may diverge from mine, and I need to be okay with that eventuality." This realization, this understanding, this acceptance of impermanence, has allowed me to keep my heart intact through so many situations that might otherwise have broken me.

In many challenging situations where relationships transformed or ended, I've found wisdom by looking to nature, where everything exists in beautiful yet temporary states. Recently, I observed a bird that started building an intricate nest under the open roof of my porch. The bird constructed this nest with remarkable skill and dedication, a really impressive structure that reflected both instinct and careful attention. It was a truly marvelous creation. I found myself taking numerous pictures of the nest, feeling so delighted and moved by this natural architecture, appreciating the bird's industriousness and nurturing instinct.

And then, unexpectedly, one day a slight wind came through — not even a strong gust, just an ordinary breeze — and it completely blew the bird's nest away, and tragically, the newly hatched baby bird also perished in this sudden destruction. I was deeply saddened witnessing this loss — that a mother bird had lost both their carefully constructed home and their precious little baby in one cruel moment. And then, reflecting more deeply, I found myself wondering: if this bird possessed the knowledge and skill to build such a beautiful, intricate nest and the wisdom to choose what seemed like a protected location, then why didn't the bird anticipate that wind would come and potentially destroy everything? Upon further reflection, I realized that perhaps the bird did know this risk all along — because birds, living continuously in open spaces, encounter winds and storms every single day of their existence. They are intimately aware of these natural forces and their potential consequences.

So then I started to consider that perhaps birds have evolved to be fundamentally okay with changes and setbacks. They accept the impermanence of their creations as part of their existence. And in a similar way, we humans would benefit greatly from cultivating this same acceptance of change and resilience in the face of setbacks. We, as emotional beings with complex inner lives, tend to create enormous resistance to change in all its forms. We rarely want to leave our comfort zones once established. We become deeply attached to comfort and stability, whether it comes in the form of a relationship, a job, material possessions, or any other aspect of our constructed lives — we are essentially married to comfort and typically refuse to leave it at any cost, even when staying becomes more painful than leaving would be.

While observing that bird, I realized something profound — the bird had started building its nest and even placed its precious offspring inside, fully knowing that wind could come at any moment and destroy everything. The bird was likely mentally prepared for this kind of setback even before beginning construction or laying its eggs. This is the wisdom of nature — to proceed with life and creation while acknowledging impermanence. So, I've chosen to apply this same perspective to human relationships and experiences: if someone filled us up with joy and love and then, ultimately, emptied us as well through their departure or changed behavior — it's okay. It's truly okay, because that person also brought tremendous joy into our lives at one point in time, enriching our existence in ways we might not have experienced otherwise.

Let me brighten your reading with not just reflection but soulful joy. I've selected a video I created with a DJ here in the Yukon. Jordan Stevens, an educator by day, transforms into "DJ Sweet Jones" when he's not teaching. Here in Whitehorse, during the long weekend, we combined Bhangra dance with DJ music for some extra happiness. Enjoy these uplifting beats blended into a joyful Bhangra mood.

By shifting our focus to those joyful moments rather than dwelling exclusively on the pain of loss, we can recapture some good part of that joy, develop a new and more resilient perspective on life's ebbs and flows, and discover healing that allows us to remain open to new connections. This shift may not erase the pain fully, but it offers a balanced perspective that acknowledges both the gift of having experienced profound connection and the natural progression of all relationships through their various seasons.

*****

Dear reader,

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With grateful heart,

Gurdeep