Nothing about Gisele Bündchen is normal. The woman is a 5’11” former Victoria’s Secret angel who wants to save the rainforests and has been known to magically predict every time her future (?) ex-husband, Mr. Tom Bündchen, will lead his team to a Super Bowl. She’s also worth an estimated $400 million. But right now—and I’m not trying to make you spit out your drink, please take this seriously—Gisele is an everywoman. Because Gisele is going through a breakup.
On Thursday, days after the gossip blogs lit up with news that Gisele and Mr. Bündchen had both hired divorce lawyers, Gisele was spotted, sans wedding ring, with an “unknown holistic woman,” according to Page Six. Here’s their description of the encounter, which should be read using a Nat Geo wildlife documentary voice:
“The healer can be seen burning the stick around her SUV before making her way inside an office with Bündchen...At one point, the woman seemed to exit her building holding a prayer pose before hugging the supermodel as she left.”
Gisele might not be the model for relatable domesticity or misadventures in modern dating—but her post-breakup cleansing routine is tugging even at my heartstrings, which reside in a dead black heart. Even if you have nothing in common with the bronzed goddess, haven’t we all saged every nook and cranny of our homes, cars, and souls to zap any of our ex’s lingering energy out of our lives? I bet you anything she was about to listen to Glennon Doyle’s We Can Do Hard Things or Call Her Daddy or some Tinx bullshit while strapping on her ankle weights to embark on a little Hot Girl Walk.
Just in case one of the most coveted and wealthy women in the world doesn’t have a flourishing support system, here are a few words for you, Gisele. We see you going through it, sweetie! You’re just a few dozen facials, a silent yogi retreat, and a sound bath away from officially dumping his ass, once and for all. Just remember, healing isn’t a straight line. It’s more of a…football field, if you will. Some days, you’re gonna throw laser touchdown passes. Some days, you’re gonna fumble the ball. And some days, your own running back is going to accidentally sack you, and you’ll face plant into the mud, emerging with bits of turf stuck in your orifices, probably while the other team is taking the ball all the way to their end zone.
But never again will you have to listen to Tom “my place is still on the field” Brady mumble his routes in your kitchen or prepare him a little post-game snack. And that sounds like a Lombardi to me, baby!