People talk about healing like it’s this soft, glowing thing — gentle, warm, hopeful.
But before the calm, there’s usually chaos. And tears. And snot.

Healing first requires you to feel everything.
Not just sadness, but despair.
Not just anger, but rage.
Not just guilt, but the kind of shame that makes you want to vanish from your own life for a bit.

It’s not poetic when you’re in it.
Sometimes it’s ugly, loud, unproductive.
Other times it’s quiet — just you, your jaw clenched, breath caught somewhere between your lungs and your heart, wondering if you’re anxious or just need a snack or both.

I used to think I could think my way out of emotions — reason my pain into submission. Spoiler: it doesn’t work.

The biggest breakthrough came when I stopped running from guilt and shame.

That was when things started shifting.

I’ve written about that before here, but in short: facing what I didn’t want to feel was like looking into a mirror I’d avoided for years.

It was terrifying… and liberating.

Because the reflection doesn’t bite. It just wants to be seen.