Three years together. One conversation. Suddenly single. Jordan didn't want advice or silver linings. Just somewhere to put the mess. Lound became the container for grief that friends couldn't hold.
Jordan is 26. The relationship ended on a Tuesday. By Friday, they'd told the story to five different friends. Each time, the friends meant well: "You'll find someone better." "Everything happens for a reason." "At least you found out now."
None of it helped. Jordan didn't want perspective. Didn't want to be fixed. Just needed to feel the feelings without someone trying to make them stop.
The worst part was night. Lying in bed with nowhere for the thoughts to go except in circles. The same memories. The same questions. The same "what ifs" on repeat.
"Can't sleep. Keep replaying the last conversation. Did I miss signs? Was there something I could have said differently? Three years and it just... ends. I don't even know who I'm supposed to be without this relationship. We had so many plans. The trip we were going to take. The apartment we were going to get. Now what?"
"My friend tried to help today. Said 'plenty of fish in the sea.' I almost screamed. I don't want other fish. I want to be sad right now. Is that allowed? Can I just be sad without someone trying to fix it? This is the only place I can say that without getting a pep talk."
"Angry tonight. Actually angry. How dare they just decide it's over? After everything I put into this? I cancelled plans for them. I rearranged my life. And they just... walk away? I'm so mad. And sad. And tired. All at once."
You've recorded 9 entries this week. Here's what I'm seeing:
You're grieving in waves, not in a straight line. That's not regression. That's how grief actually works.
I thought I was getting better but last night was terrible again
"Getting better" isn't a straight line up. Looking at your entries, Monday was hard. Tuesday and Wednesday were easier. Thursday was hard again. That's the wave pattern, not backsliding.
What's actually changed: your hard days now include moments of clarity that weren't there in week one.
So the bad nights don't mean I'm starting over?
No. The waves get smaller over time, but they don't stop completely. Trusting the pattern is part of healing. You're allowed to have a bad night without losing all your progress.
"Went back and listened to my first week of entries. God, I was so raw. But also... I noticed something. Even in the worst of it, I kept saying 'I don't know who I am without this relationship.' And now, a month later, I'm starting to figure that out."
"Made dinner for one last night. Watched what I wanted to watch. Went to bed when I wanted. Small things. But they felt like... mine. Not compromises. Just mine."
You've recorded 34 entries over four weeks. Early entries focused on them: what they did, what went wrong, what you miss. Recent entries focus on you: what you want, what you're learning, who you're becoming. The grief isn't gone, but you're growing around it.
"Still miss them sometimes. That's okay. But tonight I realized: I'm not waiting for them to come back. I'm not hoping for a sign. I'm just... here. Living my life. The grief has a place now instead of taking up the whole room. This app didn't fix me. It just gave me somewhere to be broken until I wasn't."
Grief doesn't need to be fixed. It needs a container.
Healing isn't linear. Having a bad day doesn't erase progress. The waves get smaller, but they're still waves.
Sometimes you just need to be sad without someone offering solutions. Lound listened without trying to make it better.
Lost in the relationship, found in the aftermath. The recordings became a map back to who they were before "us."
Jordan still has hard days, usually when a memory surfaces unexpectedly. But they don't spiral anymore. There's a place to put it, a record of how far they've come, and proof that the waves do get smaller. The relationship ended, but Jordan found something unexpected: themselves.
If you're in the middle of heartbreak and need somewhere to put the mess without advice or silver linings, Lound is here. No judgment. No fixing. Just space.