Sunscreen and Second Chances: Can We Protect Ourselves From Getting Burned Again?
Author’s Note: While on vacation in Roatan (in the Bay Islands of Honduras), I was snorkeling and inspired to write a blog series called “Saltwater Musings” – a tropical take on love, loss, healing, and the courage to dive deeper…written in the style of the character Carrie Bradshaw from Sex and the City and in collaboration with AI. It was a fun project that got me thinking creatively while still supporting women who are going through divorce, loss, and rebirth. This blog, Sunscreen and Second Chances: Can We Protect Ourselves From Getting Burned Again? is the fourth in the series. I hope this series inspires other women to plunge into the unknown to find something beautiful.
I’ve always been religious about sunscreen.
SPF 50? Slathered. Reapplied every two hours. Broad spectrum, water resistant, reef safe, dermatologist-approved. I’ve spent years shielding my skin from burns, damage, and regret—with the kind of devotion normally reserved for texting back exes you really should ignore.
But on this trip to Roatan, as I stood barefoot by the sea, rubbing lotion into my collarbone and watching a couple argue in hushed tones three beach chairs down, I started wondering—What do we do when our heart’s the thing that got burned?
And more importantly… is there a kind of SPF for love?
Sunscreen as Emotional SPF
After a breakup, we get really good at self-protection. We armor up. We build boundaries. We become fluent in red flags, attachment styles, and TikToks about narcissists. We study our past pain like a midterm we refuse to fail again.
We date cautiously—if at all. We say things like, “I’m just focusing on me right now,” and “I don’t want to get hurt again,” as if shielding ourselves is the only way to survive. We don’t just apply metaphorical sunscreen—we wrap ourselves in towels, hats, rash guards, and shade umbrellas. We build whole fortresses around our hearts in the name of not getting burned.
And yet…
A Second Shot of Sunshine
One afternoon on the island, I forgot to reapply sunscreen. I was too distracted by the reef, the sea, the weightless thrill of floating. Hours later, I came back to shore feeling a little tender, a little too pink.
But you know what? It was kind of worth it. Because in that unguarded moment, I had actually lived—fully, freely, unfiltered.
And it made me wonder: when we protect ourselves too much, do we also miss out on the good stuff?
The Burn and the Beauty
Here’s the truth they don’t put on the sunscreen label: Protection can keep you safe—but it can also keep you small.
In love, we often confuse safety with stasis. We avoid risk. We minimize exposure. We turn down dates that feel too soon or too much. We fear being seen again, touched again, wanted again. Because the last time we let our guard down, we got scorched.
But what if every sunburn taught us something? What if pain was less of a punishment, and more of a lesson in our own resilience?
Yes, I’ve been burned by love. Blistered, even. But I’ve also basked in its warmth. Glowed from it. Grown because of it.
And maybe that’s the deal—we don’t get the glow without some risk of burn.
Do-Overs & Second Chances in Paradise
There’s something about being on vacation that makes second chances feel possible.
Maybe it’s the saltwater. Or the way people dress like they’re starring in a perfume ad. Or the fact that no one knows your history. You could be anyone. Anything. Even someone who still believes in love.
One night, I watched a couple—mid-40s, maybe 50—walk down the beach hand in hand. She wore a white linen dress. He carried her sandals. They looked so at ease with each other. Comfortable, but not complacent.
I don’t know their story. Maybe they were newly in love. Maybe they were on a second honeymoon after a rocky season. Or maybe they were two people who once swore off love… until they didn’t.
Whatever the case, I found myself hoping they’d had a history—because it meant they’d chosen each other again. Not in the naïve, sunscreen-free way you do when you’re 23 and everything is dewy and untested. But in the scarred, seasoned, “I know what this costs and I still want in” kind of way.
That’s the second chance I want.
The Risk of Reapplying
When we put ourselves out there again—whether in a new relationship, a new beginning, or even just a new flirtation—we do it with scars. We remember the sting. We hesitate. We apply the emotional equivalent of SPF 100.
But the risk of love, like the sun, is always there.
And here’s the wildest part: we do it anyway.
Because we’re built for connection. For warmth. For touch. We want to be seen and chosen and loved. And no amount of armor can fully protect us from that wanting.
So we flirt again. We open up again. We hope again.
And maybe we don’t call it “dating” yet—we call it “meeting for coffee,” or “just talking,” or “seeing what happens.” But really, we’re cracking the door open. We’re letting in light. We’re trusting ourselves to survive, even if we get a little pink in the process.
Love Lessons from Sunburns
-
You can do everything right and still get burned.
It’s not your fault. It’s just the nature of exposure. -
Healing takes time—and aloe.
You can’t rush it. But you will recover. -
Every burn teaches you what your skin—and your heart—needs.
Boundaries aren’t about avoidance. They’re about honoring your capacity. -
Eventually, you’ll want to go back outside.
Even if it’s just for a few minutes. Even if you stay in the shade at first. -
The warmth is still worth it.
You just have to decide when you’re ready.
So… Can We Really Protect Ourselves From Getting Burned?
The answer, frustratingly, is no. Not completely.
We can be smart. We can go slow. We can listen to our intuition and apply all the lessons we’ve learned.
But love, like sunlight, is unpredictable. It can warm you. It can burn you. Sometimes it does both in the same afternoon.
And while it’s tempting to stay inside forever, wrapped in the safety of solitude, that’s not really living, is it?
So the better question might be: Are we willing to get a little sun on our skin in order to feel something real again?
Final Thoughts from the Shade
As I sit under a striped umbrella on my last day in Roatan, rubbing aloe onto my shoulder and sipping something cold, I’m thinking about the next time I fall in love.
It might not be tomorrow. Or next month. Or even this year.
But when it comes, I don’t want to meet it with fear. I want to meet it with wisdom. With openness. With maybe just enough sunscreen to take care of myself—but not so much that I forget how good the sun can feel.
Because yes, I’ve been burned. But I’ve also healed.
And somewhere between those two truths is the courage to begin again.
Like this blog? Continue reading the final blog in the series, A Shell of Myself.