The Soft Work of Rebuilding After Rupture: How I’m Rewriting the Story of Conflict and Connection

The Feminine Urge to Mend What's Been Broken

I’ve been working really hard to repair patterns that have been etched into my nervous system.

Especially the ones wrapped around disagreement, damage, and rupture.

Somewhere along the way, I learned that a fight meant the end. That conflict meant disconnection. That when things fall apart, everyone retreats to their respective corners, licking their wounds in silence. I picked up early on that my big feelings weren’t safe to express. That having them, or naming them, meant risking the loss of love or closeness.

One of my earliest heartbreaks taught me that there was no room for my emotions. That speaking up meant pushing people away. And that lesson? I stayed with me from the baby girl stage until now.

It made me believe that I was unworthy of repair. That I wasn’t good enough to be soothed, to be comforted, to be cared for after a rupture. So I did what I thought was safest. I buried my big feelings. I kept the peace by keeping myself quiet.

Ironically, it was one of my exes who taught me about repair.

We didn’t last, and we were never meant to, but there was a moment during one of our first miscommunications that changed everything for me. I had withdrawn, ready to shut down and retreat like I always did. But he didn’t let me. He came to me gently, with the kind of presence I didn’t know was possible in conflict. He asked if we could talk.

He stayed.

He showed me that disagreement didn’t have to mean disaster. That tension didn’t equal the end. That we could talk through it. That healing was an option. That love, even if imperfect, could hold space for imperfection.

That moment altered my brain chemistry.

As someone who has spent much of her life detaching, withholding, and moving through hard emotions alone, it was almost bizarre to be met with such care. To have someone stay during the storm. To not be left alone with the thunder of my own feelings.

Big emotions can feel like a tidal wave. A complete collapse. The kind of devastation that makes it hard to breathe, let alone speak. And most of the time, I’ve faced those moments by myself. So to have someone sit beside me, calm and present and undeterred, and remind me that they weren’t leaving, was healing.

It rocked my world in the best way.

It spoke to the little girl in me.

And the grown woman too.

That experience taught me that repair is possible. That we can come back from rupture. That some things can be rebuilt, even if they don’t go back to what they once were.

We didn’t work out, and I’m more than at peace with that, but he gave me something invaluable. A blueprint for how to stay, even when things get hard. A glimpse of what it looks like to love with care through the mess.

So recently, when a rupture happened between me and someone I love deeply, my sister, I had new tools. It wasn’t easy. Emotions ran high, and it definitely took some time. But the fact that within a few days we were able to laugh about the ridiculousness of what even sparked the conflict felt like a miracle. A testament to both of our growth, and definitely mine.

An earlier version of me might’ve let things fester.

Pulled back.

Gone cold.

But this version of me? I want to fix things sooner.

I want to get back to living. To laughing. To loving.

Now don’t get me wrong. This doesn’t mean every relationship is worth repairing. I saw a TikTok the other day that said something along the lines of ‘my willingness to work through hard conversations is a sign of how much I care. I don’t offer that labor to everyone,’ and it hit.

Hard.

There are friendships, family ties, and connections I’ve walked away from without a fight. Because I finally understood that not every bond deserves preservation. Some of them were never what I thought they were in the first place.

But the people I love deeply, immensely, with certainty, those are the ones I will always try for. Those are the ones I fight for. Those are the ones I repair with.

So I’m continuing to challenge my old conditioning. The outdated stories I’ve told myself about what love means, about what I’m worthy of, and about what happens after rupture.

I want to be someone loving.

Someone kind.

Someone who can take a breath, feel the weight of the moment, and choose repair.

Someone who doesn’t run when it gets uncomfortable.

Someone who stays.

I’ll never be perfect. There will always be moments I mess up. But that old narrative, the one that told me I’m too much to hold, too emotional to stay with, too broken to fix? No. I’m not feeding myself those lies anymore. I’m choosing to show up differently. I’m choosing to become someone I’d want to be in community with. And that choice, every single day, is transforming me in ways I can’t always name.

But I feel it deeply, in my core.

That’s the kind of healing and repair I want to lean into.

So tell me…

What does repair after rupture look like for you? Write to me. I’d love to know.

—
Aliya Cheyanne
The Feminine Urge to Create