Novelist Marlowe Granados divulges her unexpected approach for getting out of a deep rut.

Years ago, I had been working odd jobs while trying to finish my first novel. I rented out my apartment on weekends, babysat, and worked a part-time job in events. This gave me plenty of free time to sit in libraries and write. Something people never tell you when embarking on being a writer is how many hours you will sit excavating your life and emotions. This can be difficult when, simultaneously, that life is falling to pieces.

The off-and-on again relationship that defined the worst part of my twenties had finally collapsed. The hours that I had been diligently writing were now filled with what felt like a never ending despair. I could lose days in bed crying without consequence. My normal clothes sat limp in my closet as I had no need for dressing up. I stopped putting on makeup in case I burst into tears. Friends came over with care packages to check in on how I was doing, exchanging glances with each other in shared concern for me. There was simply too much time to pore over the details of my heartbreak. I had no distraction from it.

On one of the few days I roused enough ambition, I decided I needed to build structure back into my life. That would be the solution for putting myself back together. After making a few calls, I was told that a luxury store needed help in their office, writing copy for their website. A month later I started working there full-time.

It became fortifying. I was surrounded by stylish, intelligent women every day. I got out of bed and finally put my clothes to good use—an outfit really does set the tone for the day. I’d get a coffee, make small talk with the barista, and walk the twenty minutes it took to get to work. I’d only briefly alluded to having gone through a breakup and as the new girl, no one wanted to pry. It didn’t feel like I was avoiding the topic—my priorities had naturally rearranged themselves. Being alone at night slowly became easier.

Having spent most of my early twenties as a host at upscale restaurants, it was second nature for me to come in each day in an effervescent mood, put-on or not. This need for a little bit of corporate performance further catapulted me out of my rut, and brought me closer to my old self, the one that had existed before the hurricane of that relationship had torn through my self-esteem.

Another unexpected perk of the job: I found my audience. Through work, I made tight friendships with the women around me that eventually influenced my writing. Originally, I had taken on the job as something of a distraction, but without it, my life lacked the richness of being in community on a daily basis with like-minded women. As we became closer, our after-work drinks became something of a tradition, forming a new backbone to the week. Those conversations of coworker commiserating helped me through the roughest of patches. They served as both a salve and a reminder that we were all blindly grasping through womanhood—working, loving, and finding resilience in whatever form.

To act rashly and blow up your life is the classic plot twist in the face of great heartbreak. The uncommon reaction to a tidal wave of emotional tumult—one I would proselytize to anyone freshly in spiral—is to channel that bubbling need to act on impulse in another way: to impulsively court more responsibility, and to define the edges of your reality, maybe with the forty hour work week, the schedule set and deliverables determined by someone else. By all accounts, the dissolution of the relationship and its aftermath were unfortunate, but it gave me the push to dive into a new kind of adulthood—the water surprisingly warm.

Check out Marlowe’s Substack and Instagram.