I Made Plans That Didn't Include Her. That Was the First Sign.
"Something has changed within me, something is not the same"
Dear fellow travellers,
I’m writing this from a Temple on an Island, where I now work as a temple stay coordinator. It’s October, a month and more after the breakup that sent me here. Every morning, I wake to the 4 AM bells and eat breakfast with a view of the coastline - the ocean stretching endlessly, the sunrise painting everything gold.
And yesterday, something strange happened that I’m still trying to understand.
I planned an entire day without her in it.
Not because I’ve stopped loving her. Not because the pain has disappeared. But because for the first time since August 27th, I was building something that belonged only to me.
The Day Freedom Announced Itself
It started at my desk in the temple office. I’d been hired two weeks ago - a temple stay coordinator for foreigners, managing programmes, handling the relentless schedule that leaves me barely time to breathe.
But yesterday, during a rare free moment, I opened my planner. And instead of writing letters to her in my head about what I was doing, instead of imagining showing her this beautiful place, instead of mentally rehearsing our reunion - I started planning.
Planning my future. Just mine.
October: Complete my first full month of work. Master the temple stay programmes (I’ve already done so!)
November: Save enough money to get proper rest. Read as much as I can.
December: Take that English certification exam for a salary increase. Maybe ace it.
January: Think about what I want next. Not what we wanted. What I want.
And as I wrote, I realised: she’s not in any of these plans. Not because I’m erasing her, but because I’m finally building something that doesn’t require her presence to be real.
That’s when I knew: I’m free.
What Freedom Actually Looks Like at 4 AM
Every morning at 4 AM, the monks walk through the temple grounds hitting the wooden gong, chanting the Thousand-Hands Sutra. At 4:30, morning prayers begin.
I wake to that sound now not because I’m running from her memory, but because I have a job. A real job. Responsibilities. A schedule that has nothing to do with processing my breakup and everything to do with showing up for something bigger than my pain.
On the fourth day I started working here, I gave an English tour to twenty-two foreign visitors. Explained Buddhist practices, translated the monks’ teachings, helped people understand this place. For two hours, I was completely present.
Not thinking about whether she’d be proud of me. Not mentally composing the letter I’d write her about it. Not wondering if she was thinking about me too.
Just... there. Engaged. Contributing. Existing independently, fully, without her as the reference point for whether that existence had value.
And I forgot to miss her.
Not permanently. The missing came crashing back later, the way it always does. But for those two hours, I was free.
The Paradox of Liberation
Here’s what I thought freedom would feel like: waking up one day and not caring anymore. Not missing her, not wanting her back, not feeling that familiar ache when the highway roads remind me of trips we took together.
But that’s not what freedom feels like at all.
Freedom feels like this: I miss her AND I’m okay. I want her back AND I’m building a life anyway. I still love her AND I’m learning to love myself more.
The paradox is that I’m freer now while still loving her than I ever was while we were together. Because back then, I needed her. My emotional stability depended on her presence, her reassurance, her constant proof that I was worth keeping.
Now? I miss her desperately some days. The drive from Dangjin to Incheon makes me cry because we drove it together so many times, shouting “Paltan, Ujeong, Joam!” at the highway signs like it was our private joke.
But I don’t need her to survive the drive. I don’t need her to validate that my new job matters. I don’t need her to tell me I’m okay in order to feel okay.
That’s freedom. Not the absence of love, but the presence of self.
When You Start Planning a Solo Flight
The moment I knew I was truly free came when I started making plans that didn’t include her.
Not plans to get over her. Not plans to become someone she’d want back. Not even plans to heal from the breakup.
Just... plans. For me. About my life. About what I actually want to build, independent of whether we ever speak again.
October goals:
Master the temple stay coordination role
Learn all the programmes inside and out
Save my first real paycheck in over a year
By January:
Build up the blog I’ve been planning and working on (not about her, about my minimalistic lifestyle that I learned and interior designs for mental health)
Maybe take the English certification test for a salary boost
Figure out if I want to stay here or try for another temple
By Spring:
Have enough saved to take care of myself properly
Visit the Oriental medicine clinic on my day off (not sure I can handle going there solo though)
Decide what kind of life I’m building
Nowhere in these plans does it say “win her back” or “become worthy of her” or “fix myself enough that she may want to take me back.”
These are just my plans. For my life. That will happen whether she ever comes back or not.
And writing them down felt like... flying. Like I’d been grounded for so long, tethered to her approval, and suddenly I remembered I have wings.
Like Elphaba realising she’s been playing by the rules of someone else’s game - it’s time to trust my instincts, close my eyes, and leap.
The Coastline Teaches You About Horizons
Every morning at breakfast, I look out at the coastline. The ocean stretches forever from this temple on this Island. The horizon is so clear that you can see where the water meets the mountains.
And I’ve started to understand something: a horizon isn’t an ending. It’s just where your vision stops. Beyond it, there’s more ocean, more sky, more world you can’t see yet.
That’s what planning without her feels like. I can’t see the whole future yet. Don’t know where I’ll be in six months, a year. Don’t know if I’ll stay in temple work or try something else. Don’t know if she and I will ever find our way back to each other.
But I know the ocean keeps going past the horizon. And I know I can keep going too, even without seeing the whole path ahead.
The Chains I Didn’t Know I Was Wearing
When you’re in the middle of emotional dependence, you don’t realise you’re trapped. It feels like love. It feels like devotion. It feels like a connection.
Looking back now, I can see the chains clearly:
Planning Everything Around Her Every decision filtered through “What would she think?” Every goal measured by “Would this make her proud?” Every future imagined with her at the centre.
Needing Her Approval My job search wasn’t about finding work I’d love - it was about finding something impressive enough that she’d see I was worthy. My healing wasn’t about getting better - it was about becoming someone she’d want back.
Making Her The Point Every sunrise was beautiful because I wished she could see it. Every achievement mattered because I wanted to tell her. Every moment of joy was incomplete without her witnessing it.
I thought these were symptoms of loving deeply. Now I realise they were symptoms of not having a self separate from her.
What Changed These Two Months
Weeks 1-2 at Yeongrangsa: Constant crying. Every activity filtered through “What would she think?” The kitchen laywoman suggesting I cover my skin. Feeling like I was just... waiting. For her to change her mind. For time to rewind.
Weeks 3-4: Small shifts. Starting to notice the mountains, the work, the rhythm of temple life. Still crying daily, but not constantly. Beginning to help in the kitchen not to prove anything, but because I could.
Weeks 5-6: The interview. Getting the job. Realising: I need work, not just healing space. I need to build something, not just process loss. Moving to a different temple, a different role, a different life.
Week 7: Working. Actually working. Too busy to constantly miss her. English tours, temple stay programmes, responsibilities that have nothing to do with our breakup. Coming to the dorm exhausted and realising: I went hours without thinking about her.
Now: Planning a future without her in it. Not to spite her. Not to move on from her. Just to... live. Because life keeps happening whether she’s in mine or not, and I deserve to participate in it.
Freedom to Be Insufficient for Her, Sufficient for Myself
Here’s something strange I’m learning: part of freedom is accepting that I wasn’t what she needed, and building a life anyway.
She accommodated me from the beginning. It exhausted her. My BPD symptoms, amplified by illness, made me emotionally draining. She needed someone less intensive, and that’s reasonable.
I can accept that I was insufficient for her without accepting that I’m insufficient, period.
I wasn’t the right person for her relationship. But I might be exactly the right person for this job, for this temple work, for whatever I’m building next.
Some people aren’t meant for each other, even when they love each other deeply. And that’s sad, but it doesn’t mean you stop being a whole person with your own path to walk.
The Future I’m Building (Without Her Permission)
Here’s what my solo flight looks like:
Professional: Working at a temple that pays actual money. Learning skills. Building a resumé. Taking English certifications. Becoming good at something that has nothing to do with whether anyone loves me.
Personal: Blogging about temple life and what I am passionate about. Sharing what I’m learning about Buddhism and BPD. Creating something that might help others without needing her approval of it.
Spiritual: 108 prostrations when my schedule allows. Chanting the Sinmyo Janggu Dadarani. Learning from the monks not to win her back, but to actually understand myself.
Physical: Taking care of my body. Planning visits to the Oriental medicine clinic. Actually eating full meals instead of picking at food while missing her cooking.
Financial: Saving money for the first time in over a year. Building independence. Not needing anyone to support me because I’m supporting myself.
None of these plans is about her. None of them is designed to make her regret leaving. None of them is proof that I’m “worthy” now.
They’re just... my life. The life I’m building. With or without her in it.
And that’s what defying gravity means: building something real that exists independent of anyone’s approval. Something unlimited.
What the Monks Say About Freedom
One of the monks here talks about “letting go of attachment” constantly. I used to think that meant letting go of loving people.
But he explained: “Attachment isn’t loving someone. Attachment is needing them to be a certain way, do certain things, feel certain feelings in order for you to be okay. Love without attachment means caring deeply while accepting you can’t control any of it.”
I’m free now not because I’ve stopped loving her, but because I’ve stopped needing her to love me back in order to function.
I still hope she does. I still miss what we had. The drive to Ganghwa reminds me of trips we took. The coastline makes me think of Santorini. Every beautiful sunset makes me wish she could see it.
But my okayness doesn’t depend on her anymore. My plans don’t revolve around her. My future exists whether she’s in it or not.
And that, surprisingly, makes me more capable of genuine love than I ever was when my entire emotional state hinged on her responses.
For Anyone Still Waiting for Permission to Live
If you’re reading this from the middle of your own holding pattern - where every plan is contingent on them coming back, where you can’t imagine a future without them, where your entire life feels like it’s on pause until they change their mind - I want you to know something:
You don’t need their permission to start living. You don’t need them to approve of your plans. You don’t need reconciliation in order to move forward.
Start planning your solo flight:
What do you want to learn that has nothing to do with them?
Where do you want to work if you were to choose for yourself?
What goals make sense for just you, independent of any relationship?
What would your life look like if you stopped waiting and started building?
You don’t have to stop loving them. You don’t have to stop hoping. But you do have to start living like your life matters whether they’re in it or not.
Because it does. Your life matters. Your plans matter. Your solo flight matters.
Too long I’ve been afraid of losing love, I guess I’ve lost. Well, if that’s love, it comes at much too high a cost.
The View From Here: Coastline at Dawn
I’m writing this as the sun rises over the ocean from my temple on an Island. In a few hours, I’ll start my day - checking in guests, coordinating programmes, giving English tours.
Tomorrow morning, I’ll wake at 4 AM to the wooden gong again. Next week, maybe I’ll take that certification exam. Next month, who knows?
I still miss her. I probably always will, at least a little. The highway roads still make me cry. Certain songs still break my heart. The ghost of us still haunts the route to this island.
But I’m not haunted by her anymore. I’m not waiting for her permission to exist. I’m not planning my life around the hope of reconciliation.
I’m just... here. Building something. Working. Planning. Taking flight.
And it turns out, freedom doesn’t feel like forgetting someone. It feels like remembering yourself.
The ocean keeps stretching past the horizon whether she’s thinking of me or not. The sun rises whether we ever speak again or not. My future unfolds whether our story gets a second chapter or not.
And for the first time since August, that doesn’t feel like a tragedy. It feels like a plane taking off.
If you’re sitting on a runway, engines ready, waiting for someone else to give you permission to fly - this is your sign. You don’t need clearance. You don’t need their blessing. You don’t need reconciliation to start your journey.
You just need to remember: something has changed within you. You’re through playing by the rules of someone else’s game. And when you learn to trust your instincts and close your eyes and leap - that’s when you discover you’ve been capable of flight all along.
And freedom? Freedom is worth the loneliness of altitude.
These letters from the temple are how I’m learning that planning a future without someone doesn’t mean you’ve stopped loving them - it just means you’ve started loving yourself enough to live whether they’re watching or not.
Next week: “Five Steps Forward, Four Steps Back,” even if you move backward, you are still in progress.
Emotionally yours (and finally flying free),
Suinny
If you’re struggling with codependency, waiting for someone’s permission to live, or feeling trapped in limbo:
Crisis Text Line: Text HOME to 741741 National Suicide Prevention Lifeline: 988 Find therapists specialising in attachment: Psychology Today directory Codependents Anonymous: coda.org
Everyone deserves a chance to fly. You deserve to build a life that matters whether anyone else validates it or not. You deserve to be free.