The time you spend grieving over a man should never exceed the

Rita Rudner, with the sharpness of wit and the tenderness of lived truth, once declared: “The time you spend grieving over a man should never exceed the amount of time you actually spent with him.” Though her words may be wrapped in humor, they carry the force of ancient wisdom. They speak not only to the pain of love lost, but also to the deeper truth that sorrow must have proportion, and that the sacred gift of time must not be surrendered to endless mourning over what was fleeting.

The ancients knew that grief is a natural companion to love, but they also warned against allowing grief to become a prison. In the Stoic schools, the philosophers taught that when something or someone departs, the measure of grief should not consume the measure of life. For all things are temporary, and the wise do not cling to what has passed longer than it deserves. Rudner’s counsel echoes this: if love was brief, then let grief, too, be brief. To give sorrow more years than joy is to dishonor the balance of life.

Consider the story of Dido, Queen of Carthage. When Aeneas departed to fulfill his destiny, she gave herself wholly to grief, allowing the shadow of abandonment to eclipse her reign, her people, and her future. Her love for him had lasted but a short while, yet her mourning consumed her entirely, leading to her tragic end. Here is the warning in Rudner’s words: to grieve beyond measure is to lose more than the man—you lose yourself, your purpose, your years.

Yet this teaching is not a call to coldness, but to wisdom. To love is human, to grieve is human, but to remain shackled to sorrow is to waste the most precious resource of all: time. For time is life itself, and no man, however beloved, should claim more of your life in absence than he did in presence. The heart must learn to release, to honor what was, but also to move forward into what can be. This is not forgetfulness, but freedom.

History also gives us noble examples of resilience. When Eleanor Roosevelt lost her beloved husband Franklin, she grieved, yes, but she did not let grief eclipse her life. She transformed sorrow into service, rising to become one of the greatest voices for human rights in the twentieth century. The years she might have given over to mourning, she instead gave to the world. Her life illustrates Rudner’s truth: love remembered is honorable, but grief prolonged can be turned into greater purpose.

The lesson here is both practical and profound. When love ends—whether through abandonment, betrayal, or even death—allow yourself to grieve, but place a boundary upon that grief. Ask yourself: am I giving this sorrow more years than the love itself deserved? If so, release it. Turn your gaze forward, not backward. Use the time not to sit in ashes, but to build anew, to honor yourself, and to embrace the possibility of joy yet to come.

Therefore, let Rita Rudner’s words stand as both shield and guide. Do not squander your days in endless mourning for what was fleeting. Honor love by remembering it with proportion, and honor yourself by refusing to let grief eclipse your future. The heart was not made to live in ruins, but to rise, to rebuild, to beat with strength again. Remember this: time is sacred, and it belongs not to the lost, but to the living.