The first time I went through heartbreak was when I was about 18 years old. The relationship ended just as high school was coming to an end. I was devastated. I didn’t see it coming. To register my displeasure, I wrote a very sad poem on Facebook. I didn’t hesitate to let the world know that I was going through something. Then, I would go into the comments, find those who were asking what happened and inbox them, explaining the situation in detail. Every time I remember that, I cringe. At the time, I thought it made me strong and brave.

Then came my second heartbreak in college. I was in class when I heard that another girl was visiting my boyfriend’s hostel. I immediately left the lecture, but I didn’t go quietly. I made a loud scene, as usual. My boyfriend got mad and broke up with me on the spot for embarrassing him. I was shattered. I cried so much that I couldn’t attend lectures for days. I sent him voice notes of me crying, begging for his attention. I even went to his hostel and sang, embarrassing myself even further. Looking back now, it’s laughable, but at the time, it felt like the world was ending.

And then there was Kofi. Kofi was a womanizer; I knew it from the start, but somehow I went ahead and dated him. Predictably, he broke my heart. When we broke up, the pain felt unbearable. I was convinced it was going to kill me, so I checked into the hospital. I told them I couldn’t breathe and claimed I had asthma. I was gasping for breath, so they put me on oxygen. When they asked for an emergency contact, I gave them Kofi’s number. They called him, but of course, he didn’t come. I was angry and hurt. The next day, I discharged myself and left. I was fuming that he hadn’t cared enough to show up.

Still reeling from the heartbreak, I decided to get even. I searched for his company’s contact information and sent them an email. I wrote about how Kofi was a womanizer and how he used his position at work to take advantage of women. I detailed how he had broken my heart and how little he cared.

I wrote a lot and sent it off without a second thought. Days later, I got a call from Kofi. All he said was, “Get help. You are crazy. Do you think you’re embarrassing me? You’re only embarrassing yourself. Get some help, and you’ll be fine.”

Now, as a grown woman, I look back and shake my head. I think these are the dumbest things I’ve ever done after a breakup. I’ve learned my lessons, though. I’m not praying for another heartbreak, but if it ever happens, I swear I’ll handle it differently. Instead of embarrassing myself, I’ll break his head on the spot. No more hospital visits or emails—just swift, clean action.