How a Solo Cruise Healed My Heartbreak After 10-Year Relationship Ended

My ex suddenly ended our 10-year relationship. I was heartbroken, thinking we would one day get married.
Two months later, feeling confused and sad, I boarded a cruise ship alone for a work trip.
I was reminded of the importance of being open, hopeful, and proud of myself, even if I’m still learning.
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I stood in my new apartment, examining the shiny hardwood floors, then staring at the cloudless blue sky through the balcony door. Sunlight shone through the freshly cleaned glass, reflecting off of blank eggshell-colored walls like nature’s glitter. It was a blank canvas, and the best one I’d ever had. I hated it.
I was 27, with a beautiful space to call my own in a city I loved. I had rich friendships and a fulfilling job. I wanted to feel grateful, but fresh out of a 10-year relationship, I felt utterly alone. What was the point of having so many of my dreams come true if I didn’t have a special someone to share them with?
In August 2021, after moving to two different cities together and discussing marriage, my ex said he needed to be alone. He said it had nothing to do with me, or how I acted, as if that would make me feel better. It didn’t. I wanted to believe him, but I didn’t. Instead, I felt worthless and hopeless.
Two months later, I found myself aboard the Celebrity Cruises Summit ship to report and write about the first-ever Goop cruise. I had been excited about the trip because of the story I’d write about it, but now I felt desperate to go just for the change of scenery and distraction from heartbreak. Typical work anxiety had to be a welcome respite from the anxiety of suddenly having no control over my relationship status, right?
During the four-night cruise with two stops in Mexico, I felt like I was in my own little world. It was filled with endless cocktails and food (I don’t think there’s anything more luxurious than access to pizza and ice cream at all hours of the day), lively top 40 and reggae music, and warm ocean air that accentuated my wavy frizzy, hair in a wild way I loved.
Aside from the distractions of work, I’ll admit had some trouble wallowing among the happy-go-lucky vacationers and ship workers, many of whom welcomed me into their circles with surprisingly cheery conversation. To be honest the cruise was almost too jovial for my personal taste. But I think that level of silliness was just what I needed to gain some perspective.
The bartenders on the cruise were full of tricks and lighthearted jokes, which boosted my mood. Julia Naftulin
Chatting with single women on the cruise, I felt hopeful and excited
My first night on the ship, I sat at the bar and observed as couples nearby sipped cocktails. By the time I ordered my second Cosmopolitan, what I assume were two 50-something friends in elegant beachwear dresses arrived. They took shots together, then grabbed hands, twirling, dancing, and singing along with the live band behind them. I pictured my own friends an ocean away, and smiled thinking about how I’d like to dance with them on a cruise ship. Then I went back to my room to turn in for the night.
The next day, one of the women from the bar, who bore a striking resemblance to Allison Janney, invited me to sit with them at lunch. Vacation Janney explained that the other woman, who had gorgeous red hair, was her best friend of 15 years. They were both married with children when they met, but they became even closer since their divorces. Cruising together with their sons was a tradition, the redhead told me. “That is awesome,” I told them, feeling the love and respect they had for each other from across the table. After that, I vowed to focus on how I could love my friends better, instead of wondering if I’d ever find romantic love again.
I met another single woman, who looked to be in her forties, while we participated in a traditional Mayan Healing ritual on shore. After offering to take my picture (which I happily accepted) she said, unsolicited, that she came on the cruise alone after her own breakup. She wanted to do something nice for herself, and a cruise sounded less overwhelming than planning a vacation from scratch, she told me. “She’s right,” I thought, hoping I’d remember this moment following my next breakup.
Then, on the beach in Mexico, a woman my age asked why I was visiting and introduced me to her parents and aunt while we sipped mojitos on the sand. She still follows me on Instagram and comments kindly on my stories and photos.
In my fleeting but meaningful interactions with these women, I realized how much I had to look forward to despite my loss. Sure, I no longer had a go-to person for sharing a romantic kiss or jet-setting to a dreamy destination. But, I did have myself, a person capable of genuine connection, hope, and the ability to feel awe in moments big and small. Floating on a slot machine-filled boat in the middle of the Gulf of Mexico, I began to see a version of myself again.
While docked in Mexico, I noticed a jewelry shop filled with gemstone rings. I thought about the time I told my ex I wanted my future engagement ring to feature a blue sapphire. “A ring is a ring,” I thought, taking a deep breath and walking into the store. I asked the shop owner to pull one with a pear-shaped sapphire out of the display case so I could try it on. It looked nice and I remembered I could do things for myself, so I bought it.
With a view like this, it was hard not to feel small. Julia Naftulin
I learned the beauty of being by myself while cruising solo
When my relationship first ended, the thought of doing everything alone and making every decision by myself was almost crippling. After spending most of my twenties in a committed relationship, I truly didn’t know if or how I could do it.
I didn’t want to choose a place to live alone, decide who to go on a first date with from Hinge, or think about all of the chores I couldn’t split with someone else. But deciding which Mexican excursion to try, which foods to eat from the buffet, or which classes and dance parties to attend on the boat, made me feel exhilarated and free.
On the last night of the cruise, I ate dinner alone in the grand dining room then walked onto the deck to listen to waves hit the boat and look up at the stars, my new cruise ritual. Breathing in the salty air and silence, I realized I would never have taken these moments to myself if I was here with my ex. I took a few more deep breaths, then glanced at my phone, seeing a notification on the cruise’s app. There was about to be a moonlight dance party on the deck and everyone was invited.
After the night ended with drunken dancing among strangers (yes, Vacation Janney, the redhead, and their sons were there), I walked myself back to my room and got ready for bed. In bed, I opened the Hinge app and responded to a few promising matches, wondering if I’d actually go on dates with any them when I got home. Before the cruise, I gravitated towards wallowing in solitude. But here, I was making new memories with myself and my fellow cruisers while existing in my pain. It didn’t feel perfect, but it felt better, so I wanted to keep trying.
Back in Philadelphia after the cruise, I unlocked my apartment door and walked into the dark and narrow entryway.
No one called out to me from inside, anticipating my arrival. When I flicked on the light switch and looked around, everything — my shelf of carefully positioned knick-knacks, the singular dirty spoon in the sink, the pile of laundry I’d meant to fold the week prior — was where I’d left it.
I was home, and that finally felt good.