Healing isn’t linear.
It’s messy, humbling, confusing, and sometimes so quiet that you wonder if anything is even happening at all.
But when I look back now, I can see the trail of broken pieces I used to survive…
And the slow, tender steps I’ve taken to come home to myself.
The Storm
There was a time when I was drowning in self-hate.
I didn’t know how to express the weight I was carrying, so I punished myself for feeling it.
I cut my skin just to feel something real.
I restricted food to feel control when everything else felt chaotic.
I binged and purged because the pain inside needed somewhere to go.
I destroyed friendships before they could abandon me.
I misused medication not because I wanted to die, but because I didn’t know how else to cope.
I silenced my needs, smiled through my sadness, and tried to become who I thought everyone wanted me to be.
All of it stemmed from one deep-rooted belief:
“I am not enough.”
I carried that lie like a shadow.
The Awakening
But pain, even as it broke me, also cracked something open.
It brought me to my knees.
And in that darkness, I found the most unexpected thing: truth.
The truth that I didn’t have to live this way.
That my worth wasn’t tied to my suffering.
That the love I was chasing in others had to begin with me.
I began listening to the parts of me I’d ignored.
I began feeding myself—literally and emotionally.
I started confronting the past and letting go of guilt.
I learned that forgiveness doesn’t mean forgetting—it means freeing myself from the chains of shame.
Most importantly, I stopped trying to heal for anyone else.
I started healing for me.
The Healing
Healing looked like:
- Crying on the bathroom floor, and then still getting up.
- Letting myself eat and rest without punishment.
- Writing letters to my younger self.
- Saying “no” without apologizing.
- Walking away from karmic relationships that mirrored my pain instead of my power.
- Choosing softness over survival.
- Choosing peace over perfection.
- Choosing me—even when I didn’t feel worthy yet.
Healing wasn’t one big moment.
It was a thousand little choices to stop abandoning myself.
And I’m still on that path.
Still learning.
Still unlearning.
Coming Home
I’ve learned that I don’t need to be fixed—because I was never broken.
I was hurt.
I was misunderstood.
I was surviving.
But now, I’m learning how to live.
I’m reconnecting with my body, my voice, my needs, my spirit.
I’m shedding old identities built on self-sacrifice.
I’m creating a life that feels safe, soft, and sacred.
This isn’t a story of perfection.
This is a story of coming home to myself.
And for that…
I am proud.
I am grateful.
I am healing.
