Mark: Neuroscientists have found that the physiological lifespan of an emotion—that rush of anger, that pang of sadness—is only ninety seconds. Michelle: Ninety seconds? That’s it? Mark: That’s it. The chemical rush in your brain and body rises, peaks, and dissipates in about the time it takes to make a cup of tea. Michelle: Okay, but then why does the agony after seeing an ex’s happy vacation photo on Instagram last for three days? Ninety seconds feels like a lie. Mark: Ah, because the answer isn't in the emotion itself. It's in the story we tell ourselves about the emotion. And today, we're learning how to rewrite that story. Michelle: I love that. This feels like we're about to perform some kind of emotional surgery on ourselves. Mark: It's exactly that. That ninety-second rule is just one of the mind-blowing insights from Amy Chan's book, Renew: Breakup Bootcamp: REWIRE YOUR BRAIN TO HEAL FROM HEARTBREAK, FIND LOVE, AND LIVE THE LIFE YOU WANT. Michelle: And Amy Chan isn't just an author. Her own story is incredible. She hit rock bottom after a devastating breakup—we're talking infidelity, depression, a total loss of identity—which led her to create the actual Renew Breakup Bootcamp. It's a real-life retreat that became the foundation for this book. She literally turned her deepest pain into her purpose. Mark: Exactly. And that's our starting point today: the pain itself. Because to heal it, you first have to understand what it's doing to your brain. It’s not a weakness; it’s a biological crisis.

Michelle: Okay, "biological crisis" sounds intense. What does that actually mean? We think of heartbreak as a purely emotional thing, a matter of feelings. Mark: Chan argues that's our first mistake. She says the intense pain of heartbreak is a neurochemical event. Your brain on a breakup looks shockingly similar to a brain in cocaine withdrawal. Michelle: Come on. Is it really an addiction, or is that just a powerful metaphor? Mark: It’s much closer to a literal addiction than you’d think. When you're in a loving relationship, your brain is getting regular hits of dopamine—the pleasure and reward chemical. Your partner becomes your primary source for this feel-good neurochemical. When they're gone, the supply is cut off, cold turkey. Your brain goes into a state of intense craving. Michelle: So that obsessive thinking, the constant checking of their social media, the replaying of old memories... that's the brain desperately trying to get its fix? Mark: Precisely. It's a withdrawal. Chan shares her own story with her ex, Adam, to illustrate this. Their relationship seemed perfect. They were planning a future, a family. Then she discovers he's been cheating. Her world doesn't just emotionally crumble; it physically collapses. She describes it as a period of intense pain, self-doubt, and deep depression. She couldn't eat, she couldn't sleep. Her body was in a state of shock. Michelle: That sounds so visceral. It’s not just sadness; it’s a full-body breakdown. Mark: It is. And at her lowest point, she even contemplated suicide. That’s how powerful this biological response can be. It’s not a character flaw to feel that level of devastation. It’s your brain’s survival system going haywire because its primary source of safety and reward has been ripped away. The book cites research showing that the brain regions that light up during this period are the same ones associated with physical pain and addiction. Michelle: Wow. That completely reframes the experience. It takes the shame out of it. You’re not weak for feeling shattered; your body is responding to a genuine chemical deficit. Mark: Exactly. And this is where that 90-second emotion rule comes back. The initial pang of pain when you remember something—that’s the 90-second physiological event. But the suffering that lasts for hours? That’s what Chan calls "feeding the emotional monster." Michelle: Feeding the monster... I know that feeling. Tell me more. Mark: She tells a story about feeling lonely after her breakup and making the mistake of looking at her ex’s social media. She sees a photo of him at a party, smiling, surrounded by friends. The 90-second jolt of anger hits. But then, the story begins. Michelle: Oh, I know this story. "He's already moved on. He never cared. I'm miserable and he's thriving. This is so unfair." Mark: You've got it. She starts creating scenarios, building a narrative of injustice, working herself into a rage. She's no longer just feeling the emotion; she's re-triggering it over and over with her thoughts. She's feeding the monster until it becomes a full-blown panic attack. The 90-second chemical reaction is hijacked by a story that can loop for hours, days, or even months. Michelle: That is such a powerful distinction. The feeling is a fleeting signal, but the suffering is the narrative we build around it. So if it's like a detox, does that mean the classic advice of 'no contact' is really the only way to get clean? Mark: From a biological perspective, yes. Every time you contact them, look at their photos, or get a hit of information, you're giving your brain a little taste of the drug. It resets the withdrawal process and strengthens those neural pathways of craving. Healing, in this sense, is about letting those pathways weaken and die off by starving them of new input. Michelle: So the biology explains the sheer intensity of the pain. But the book’s big claim is that 'it's never just about the ex.' That feels like the real core of it. What’s the ghost in the machine here?

Mark: Exactly. The ex is just the trigger for a much older program running in the background. Chan dedicates a huge part of the book to attachment theory, which basically says that our earliest childhood experiences with caregivers wire our brains for how we connect with partners in adulthood. Michelle: Right, the classic secure, anxious, and avoidant styles. I think a lot of people have heard these terms, but the book makes them feel so real. Mark: It really does. Let's start with the anxious attachment style, because Chan notes that about ninety percent of the women who come to her bootcamp identify with this. These are individuals who crave intimacy but live in constant fear of abandonment. They need a lot of reassurance, and when they don't get it, their system gets activated. Michelle: Activated is a polite word for it. What does that actually look like in, say, a real-life text message fight? Mark: Chan tells the story of a coaching client named Priya. Priya is dating a great guy, Sarf, but he’s taking things slow. One day, he doesn't text her back for seven hours. Anxiously attached Priya doesn't just get annoyed; she spirals. Her brain interprets his silence as a sign of rejection and abandonment. Michelle: So she goes into full-on crisis mode. Mark: Full crisis mode. But here’s the key part: she engages in what the book calls 'protest behavior.' She doesn't just communicate her anxiety. She decides to punish him. She strategically waits even longer to text him back. She makes sure to post a photo of herself out having fun with other guys. She's trying to provoke a reaction to get the reassurance she craves. Michelle: Oh man, the protest behavior... strategically delaying texts to punish someone. That is uncomfortably relatable for so many people. It’s a desperate attempt to regain control when you feel powerless. Mark: It is. And it's a perfect setup for the other side of the coin: the avoidant partner. These are the people who value independence above all else. Intimacy feels suffocating to them. When their anxious partner gets clingy and demanding, it confirms their deepest fear: that relationships will swallow them whole. So they pull away. Michelle: And of course, the more the avoidant partner pulls away, the more the anxious partner panics and clings, which makes the avoidant partner run even faster. It's the 'Anxious-Avoidant Trap.' Mark: A magnetic but ultimately doomed dance. Chan says they paint a "painful portrait of passionate despair." The chaos feels like chemistry, but it's actually just trauma bonding. But here's the thing—these patterns aren't just about attachment styles. They're reinforced by our core limiting beliefs. Michelle: The stories we tell ourselves about who we are. Mark: Yes. The book uses a powerful parable: the elephant and the rope. A baby elephant is tied to a stake with a rope. It's small, so it can't break free. It tries and tries, but eventually, it learns it's impossible and gives up. Michelle: And when it grows into a massive, powerful adult that could snap the rope with a single step... Mark: It doesn't even try. It's been conditioned by its past experience. The rope is no longer a physical barrier, but a psychological one. That rope is our limiting belief. A belief like, "I am unlovable," or "I am not enough." Michelle: And we carry that belief into our relationships. The book has a story about a woman named Audrey who believed she was unlovable, so she only dated unavailable men. Because if an available man actually liked her, her subconscious thought, "There must be something wrong with him for choosing me." Mark: It's a perfect self-fulfilling prophecy. Your core belief system filters reality to confirm what it already thinks is true. You're not reacting to the person in front of you; you're reacting to the ghost of a past wound. Michelle: This is both terrifying and incredibly liberating. It suggests we're not doomed by these patterns. Are these styles and beliefs permanent? Mark: Not at all. And that's the most hopeful message in the book. Chan talks about neuroplasticity—the brain's ability to rewire itself. You can develop what's called 'earned security.' You can learn to recognize your patterns, challenge your limiting beliefs, and consciously choose partners and behaviors that foster security. Michelle: And that idea of 'earned security' is the perfect bridge to the final, most empowering part of the book: actively creating a new standard for love.

Mark: Right. If the first part is about understanding the pain and the second is about diagnosing the patterns, this last part is the prescription for a cure. And it starts by dismantling the biggest lie we're sold about romance. Michelle: Let me guess: the soul mate? Mark: The soul mate. The idea of 'the one.' The book points out that a poll found 73% of Americans believe in a soul mate, even though the mathematical odds are something like one in ten thousand. This belief, Chan argues, is a disaster for our love lives. Michelle: Why a disaster? It sounds so romantic. Mark: Because it sets us up for failure. It makes us believe love should be effortless, a magical discovery. So when the initial intense passion—what the book calls 'limerence'—inevitably fades, we think, "Oh, this must not be my soul mate," and we walk away. We're chasing a fantasy instead of building a reality. Michelle: Can you break down 'limerence'? How is it different from just having a major crush? Mark: Limerence is an involuntary state of obsessive infatuation. It's all about the high of the chase, the longing, the fantasy. It’s not about the real person; it's about the idealized version you've created in your head. Love addicts, the book explains, never get past the limerence stage. They're just chasing that initial neurochemical high, moving from one person to the next. Michelle: So what's the alternative to the soul mate fantasy? Just... settling for someone boring? Mark: Not at all. The alternative is to stop 'falling' in love and start 'standing' in love. Falling is passive; it happens to you. Standing is an active choice. It's a practice. It's about choosing a partner based on character, shared values, and their ability to be a teammate—not just on that initial, chaotic spark. Michelle: The book has that great analogy about hiring for a job. You wouldn't just hire the first person who walked in with a charming smile. You'd have a job description, you'd check their references, you'd see if their values align with the company's. Mark: Yet in our love lives, we often do the exact opposite. We throw our standards out the window for a dose of chemistry. The book argues for creating a new standard for love, one based on needs, not just wants. Wants are superficial—"he has to be six feet tall." Needs are fundamental—"I need a partner who is kind and emotionally available." Michelle: This all sounds like reclaiming your power. Which brings me to my favorite character in the whole book. Mark: I know who you're talking about. Colette Pervette. Michelle: The Dominatrix! Tell her story, it's incredible. Mark: So at the Renew bootcamp, a woman named Colette leads a workshop on power. She's unassuming at first, but then she shares her story. She talks about her past struggles with eating disorders, with shame about her Vietnamese heritage, with trying to be 'perfect.' Then, she starts to shed her clothes, and with each layer, she sheds a layer of shame. She transforms into her Dominatrix persona—corset, stilettos, the whole nine yards. Michelle: But the power isn't in the costume. Mark: That's the whole point! The power comes when she declares, "The minute you can own your story, you can own all of yourself... that is your power." She embraces her vulnerabilities, her shadow, her full, authentic self. That, she says, is the source of true power. It's not about controlling others; it's about being in control of your own narrative. Michelle: So what is one thing someone listening can do tonight to start tapping into that 'Inner Dominatrix' energy? Mark: Chan suggests a simple but profound exercise: examine your fantasies. If you're fantasizing about an ex coming back, that's a disempowering fantasy because it's outside your control. But ask yourself: what need is that fantasy trying to meet? The need for validation? For security? For connection? Once you identify the need, you can create an empowering fantasy—a plan to meet that need for yourself. You take back the agency.

Mark: And that really brings everything together. The journey Chan lays out is a progression from powerlessness to power. You start by understanding that the overwhelming pain of heartbreak is a real, biological event, not a personal failing. Michelle: Which takes the shame away. Mark: Exactly. Then you become a detective of your own psychology, uncovering the old attachment patterns and limiting beliefs that have been running the show. You see the ghost in the machine. Michelle: Which gives you a map of what needs to change. Mark: And finally, you take the pen back into your own hand. You stop letting fantasies and broken chemistry compasses write your story. You build a new standard for love, based on self-worth and conscious choice. You become the Dominatrix of your own life. Michelle: I love that. The book is so well-regarded, though it does get some mixed reviews. Some readers find it a bit preachy or gender-specific. Do you think this advice is truly universal? Mark: I think the core principles are. The science of attachment and the neurology of pain apply to everyone. While the stories are often from a female perspective, reflecting the bootcamp's attendees, the underlying message about self-love, taking accountability for your own healing, and rewriting your narrative is profoundly human. Michelle: It all comes back to that one quote that feels like the thesis for the entire book. Mark: "You may not be able to change the events of your history, but you can choose to change the story you attach to those events." That shift is everything. It’s the moment you stop being a victim of your past and become the author of your future. Michelle: It makes you wonder, what's the one limiting story you've been telling yourself about your love life? A story like, "I'm too much," or "All the good ones are taken," or "I'll never get over them." Mark: And what would happen if you decided to write a new one? Michelle: We'd genuinely love to hear your thoughts on this. Find us on our socials and share the new, more empowering story you're choosing to write. What does your 'Happily Ever After 2.0' look like? Mark: This is Aibrary, signing off.