Any time you end a relationship, and everyone has ended plenty

Hear the words of Adam Brody, who speaks with a wisdom born not from theory but from the shared wounds of human experience: “Any time you end a relationship, and everyone has ended plenty in their life, it’s always a tough thing and hard to get over.” In this truth lies the universal ache of parting, for bonds once formed between hearts are never easily undone. To end a relationship is to sever threads woven through memory, affection, and shared life, and such unraveling leaves a sorrow behind, whether quiet or fierce.

A relationship is more than the joining of two bodies; it is the joining of stories, of hopes, of identities. When it ends, it feels as though a part of oneself is torn away. Even when endings are necessary, even when chosen freely, they leave behind the shadow of what once was. Brody’s words remind us that this pain is not a mark of weakness, but of humanity. To grieve when a bond is broken is proof that love, in some form, was real.

The ancients, too, spoke of this sorrow. The Greeks told the tale of Orpheus, who descended into the underworld to reclaim his beloved Eurydice. Though granted a chance to lead her back, he looked behind too soon, and she was lost forever. His mourning was not only for her, but for the bond that could not be restored. So it is with us: when a relationship ends, we may not descend into Hades, but we walk through our own shadowed valleys, learning that some doors, once closed, remain shut.

Consider the story of Eleanor Roosevelt. Her marriage to Franklin D. Roosevelt was marked by betrayal when she discovered his infidelity. Though they remained bound in public life, her personal heartbreak was profound. Yet from that grief she forged a new strength, finding independence, purpose, and a voice that would echo through history as a champion of human rights. Her story shows us that while the end—or transformation—of a relationship is painful, it can also become the seed of growth and renewal.

Brody’s words also carry a quiet consolation: that everyone has ended plenty in their life. The pain feels isolating, yet it is universal. To end friendships, romances, even ties with family members—all are experiences that thread through the lives of all humankind. In remembering this, we find comfort: we are not alone in our grief, but walk a path well-worn by countless others before us. And if others have endured, so too may we.

The lesson here is not to deny the difficulty, nor to rush past it, but to honor it. To admit that endings are hard to get over is to show courage, for it acknowledges the depth of our bonds. Healing comes not from pretending we are unhurt, but from allowing grief to run its course. With time, the raw wound becomes a scar—not erased, but transformed into a mark of what we have endured and survived.

Practical steps are these: when a relationship ends, give yourself permission to grieve. Speak of it to those you trust, for sorrow shared is sorrow lessened. Write down your feelings, not to dwell, but to release them. Create new rituals for yourself—walks, acts of service, or creative expression—that give the heart a new rhythm. And when the ache of memory arises, do not curse it; see it as proof that you were once brave enough to love.

Thus remember Brody’s wisdom: endings are always hard, but they are also universal. Do not despise your grief, for it is the echo of love’s power. Carry the lessons forward, let the pain refine you, and know that though every chapter must one day close, a new page always awaits. To endure endings with courage is to prepare the heart for beginnings yet to come.