“The Healing That Hurts”

“I’m still hurting — but I’m still trying.”

Healing isn’t as beautiful as people make it sound. It’s not all peaceful mornings, self-care days, and smiling in the sunshine.
Most of the time, it’s messy. It’s sitting with memories you’d rather bury. It’s forgiving people who aren’t even sorry. It’s learning how to trust again when trust feels like a loaded gun.

For a long time, I thought healing meant erasing the pain. I thought one day I’d wake up and it would all be gone — the anger, the sadness, the deep ache of being left behind. But I’ve learned it doesn’t work that way. The pain doesn’t disappear. You just learn how to carry it differently.

Some days, I carry it well. I paint, and the colors feel like breathing. I listen to music, and it feels like someone else is saying the things I can’t. I walk outside, notice the way the light hits the trees, and think maybe the world isn’t such a bad place after all.

Other days, I carry it badly. I retreat into myself. I overthink everything. I feel the old wounds like they just happened yesterday.

But I’m learning to be patient with myself. To give myself the same grace I’d give anyone else who’d lived my story. To see the little steps forward — even when they feel small — as proof that I’m still moving.

The hardest part of healing has been letting go of the idea that I’ll ever get “back” to who I was. Because the truth is, that version of me never really got the chance to exist. Instead, I’m building someone new. Someone who can love without losing herself. Someone who knows her worth, even if others couldn’t see it.

And maybe that’s what healing really is — not going back, but going forward with all the broken pieces, finding ways to make something beautiful out of them.

I’m not done yet.
But I’m not where I started, either.
And for now, that’s enough.