How do you get over your first love?

Maybe your hands go to your phone before your brain does. How do you get over your first love? You’re asking because the memory still has weight — the playlist, the jokes, small rituals that smell like home. I get it. That ache feels permanent, like a favorite song stuck on repeat, and yet you want to stop hearing it.

Why This Matters

Here's the thing: your first love usually lands when you’re still learning who you are with someone else, so losing it can feel like losing a piece of yourself. This is hard. It makes sense you feel like you wasted time or that the world shifted under your feet.

Sometimes the pain is loud and obvious. Sometimes it’s a low hum that sneaks into mornings and rainy afternoons. You're not broken. You're human, and these early loves teach you as much about longing as they do about boundaries.

What's Really Going On Here

Maybe you think your brain is betraying you. It isn't. Your memories are sticky because that relationship helped build parts of your identity. Think of those memories like bookmarks you put in a book you’re not ready to reread — they keep a place, not the whole story.

Here's a different image: the memory feels like a houseplant that leans toward the window where sunlight used to be. It’s not dead. It’s just reaching for light in familiar directions. That reaching can keep you stuck unless you change the room around the plant.

After 15 years of working with people who loved first and lost it, I’ve watched grief look many ways: anger, numbness, obsessive checking. It’s not always that simple, and that’s okay. You can hold multiple feelings — affection and the need to move on — at the same time.

Does This Sound Familiar?

The Morning Voice Mail You wake up and the first thing you do is listen to a message they left months ago. You feel nostalgic and dizzy, and the morning that was supposed to be ordinary now feels sticky with unfinished conversation.

The Grocery Aisle Freeze You push a cart and pass a snack you always bought for them, and the world tilts for a second. You feel a rush of sadness and confusion, like how did this item become a relic, and what do you do with the ache?

The Midday Memory Loop You’re at work and a phrase, a coffee order, or a joke appears in your head and you smile without meaning to, then the smile turns into pressure behind your eyes. You feel embarrassed and lonely — who should you tell about this small grief?

The Night Text Reflex It’s 2AM and you’re scrolling because you know they’re online or because you imagine them reading something that would make them laugh. You feel restless and guilty, and you end the night more hollow than when it began.

The Friend-Group Echo You’re at a party and their name comes up in conversation, or someone tags a photo you both were in. You feel defensive and exposed, and you don’t know whether to speak up or to disappear into the crowd.

Here's What Actually Helps

Gentle certainty about your feelings (Story first)

A client I had — let’s call her Maya — kept telling herself she was being dramatic. She started by journaling one real detail each day: one joke they shared, one thing that made her angry, one thing that felt tender. What helped her was that pairing: truth with detail. Over time, those entries lost their heat; they became data instead of hot coals.

Learning how memory tricks you (Direct teaching)

Memory edits. It takes out the boring parts and keeps the highlight reel. That’s why you remember the best version of them and forget the ordinary friction. Knowing this makes the memories less authoritative, and that makes it easier to let them sit on the shelf instead of running the show.

What if I still see them everywhere? (Question-led)

What if your ex is part of your life geography — same friend circle, same coffee shop? Then you make space differently. You can shorten interactions, shift seating, or arrive at different times. Those small environmental changes change how often the memory gets triggered, and fewer triggers mean less frequent pain.

Can I be honest? (Confession style)

Can I be honest? After years of counseling, I’ve watched people try to erase people like they’re undoing a text. It rarely works. What works better is building rituals that belong just to you: a Saturday walk, a morning song, a weekend hobby. Some clients say it felt selfish at first. Then it just felt necessary.

Gradual generosity toward yourself (Long flowing paragraph)

Sometimes you don’t need a dramatic break; you need tiny promises you can keep. Pick one small thing — eat a better lunch three days this week, text a friend one honest sentence, or put your phone in another room for an hour each evening. These little acts teach your nervous system that you can care for yourself even when your heart feels raw. Over weeks, those small acts stack and your days stop orbiting that person as much as they used to.

The value of new small risks (Story/Example briefly)

A guy I worked with started taking a pottery class because it felt awkward and therefore doable. He wasn’t trying to meet someone; he was trying to feel like himself slow and messy. What surprised him was that the class gave him permission to be awkward and alive, and that permission reduced how often he thought about them.

What Therapists Know (That Most People Don't)

Look, your first love was a teacher, not a sentence you must serve forever. You learned to love somebody; that skill is transferable. Maybe now you know better what you need and what you won’t tolerate.

Here's the thing: grief doesn’t follow a calendar. You’ll think you’ve 'moved on' and then a song or a smell brings you back. That’s normal. It doesn’t mean you regressed.

Maybe the urge to check their profile is actually an itch for connection, not a comment on your worth. You can address the itch directly — text a friend, join a group, or write about it — and let the urge subside.

After years of counseling couples and individuals, I’ve learned that time plus new routines plus small brave acts usually does the trick. Not always quickly. Not always neatly. But usually steadily.

Can I be honest? Sometimes therapy isn’t about fixing you; it’s about teaching you how to stand in your feelings without being knocked over by them.

One more thing: healing is not linear. You will have better days and worse ones, and that’s part of getting steady again.

When It's Time to Get Help

If you’re nodding when I describe persistent checking, trouble sleeping, or feeling numb much of the day, that’s a signal. If you notice you’re avoiding people you used to enjoy or leaning on substances to blur the edge, those are specific red flags. If you're reading this section and nodding, that's your answer.

Maybe you can handle this with friends, a journal, or new routines. Maybe you need a therapist to help you sort the knot — someone to hold the messy parts and help you practice different ways of being. Therapy is a tool, not a last resort. It’s like coaching for your heart.

How long does it take to get over a first love?

It varies. For some people the acute pain eases in months; for others it takes longer, especially if the relationship taught them how to be with others. Be wary of the idea of a fixed timeline. You’ll notice gradual changes before you notice a full stop.

What if my ex won’t stop reaching out?

Boundaries matter, even when they feel harsh. You can set limits that protect your healing while staying honest. If blocking feels right, do it; if not, tell them what you need and keep returning to self-care when the interaction leaves you shaky.

What if I’m afraid I’ll never love again?

Fear is loudest when your world narrows. You’ve loved once — that proves you can love. The form it takes will change. That doesn’t mean you won’t love well again; it means you’ll love differently, with more data and maybe better humor.

The Bottom Line

Look, how do you get over your first love? You don’t erase it. You make room for it to be part of your past rather than the director of your present. Start with one small promise you can keep this week — maybe an honest text to a friend, an hour away from your phone each night, or a class you’ve been curious about. Those small moves are the slow, early steps off the loop.

You're not alone. This is hard, but it’s survivable. What feels doable right now? Pick that thing and try it today. (And if it feels like too much, consider reaching out to a therapist or a supportive friend.)

If you want more, check out [related topic] for ways to rebuild trust with yourself.

How do you get over your first love? One small steady step at a time. You're not broken. You're learning.