Healing wasn’t peaceful for me. It didn’t start with soft music, candles, or pretty journal pages. It felt like losing pieces of my life and myself all at once. It felt like crying over things I thought I had already moved on from. It felt like standing in the middle of everything I prayed for and still feeling empty inside.
Nobody tells you this part — that healing feels like grief. You grieve who you used to be. You grieve the people and places that no longer fit who you are becoming.
For a long time, I lived misunderstood. I used to shrink myself so that I could be accepted — making myself smaller just to belong. I thought if I blended in, I would finally be safe. But all it did was make me disappear.
Then one day, I broke.
Not in a loud, dramatic way. It was quiet. The kind of breaking only you and your heart know about. The kind where your soul whispers, “I can’t live like this anymore.” That’s where healing began.
And it wasn’t pretty.
Healing felt like losing relationships I thought would last forever. It felt like sitting in silence while everyone else seemed okay. It felt like facing the truth — not just because they hurt me, but because I stopped choosing myself.
Healing isn’t punishment. It’s not meant to break you — it’s meant to rebuild you.
Somewhere in the quiet, I started finding me again.
The girl who used to be bold.
The woman who isn’t afraid to speak.
The mother who is healing so her kids don’t start where her pain began — they start where her freedom begins.
Is it still hard? Absolutely.
Does it get lonely? Yes.
But would I go back to the version of me who lived for approval? Not anymore.
Because now…
I don’t shrink to fit.
I don’t apologize for being too much.
I don’t confuse attention with love.
I’m no longer waiting to be understood — I’m becoming undeniable.
If you’re in your healing season, don’t rush it. Don’t numb it.
This part isn’t meant to destroy you — it’s the part that rebuilds you.
Healed. Empowered. Rare.