Becoming Again: The Beginning of My Healing Journey

I didn’t plan to start healing.

Not in the way people post about it—with a candlelit bath, a full moon ritual, or a soft filter over their tears.

My healing came after heartbreak. After grief. After survival.

It began when I became a caregiver to my parent—watching someone I loved slowly slip away while still fully present. That kind of care leaves marks. It changes you. It strips everything down to the raw, sacred truth of what matters.

We had conversations I’ll never forget.

And in one of them, they said, with a kind of quiet knowing:

“You still have to live. Your journey doesn’t end with mine.”

That moment cracked me wide open.

I had spent so long putting myself last—saying yes when I meant no, holding space for people who wouldn't hold it for me, silencing my voice to keep the peace. I was a master at hiding my creativity, my softness, my sadness. I had been shrinking for so long, I forgot what it felt like to take up space.

And just when I thought I couldn’t break any more—I did.

A best friend. A lover.

Someone I trusted tried to destroy me at my lowest. Not just leaving, but leaving damage. Trying to make me question my worth in the moments I was already doubting it.

But here’s what no one tells you: You survive it.

Every storm. Every betrayal. Every breakdown.

I made it through 100% of my worst days. Not gracefully, but completely.

That’s when my healing really began.

I found a therapist who aligned with my spirit—someone who understood me.

I started journaling—truthfully, painfully, beautifully.

I meditated, even when it was messy.

I slowed down and started listening to my own voice.

I cut off toxic family.

I stopped carrying pain that wasn’t mine to hold.

I began creating, gardening, writing, dreaming, exploring what I love—not for anyone else, but for me.

I started showing up for myself like I’d shown up for everyone else.

I learned that “No” is a full sentence.

I stopped overloading my plate just to feel valuable.

I stopped apologizing for needing rest, space, or solitude.

I stopped chasing approval and started honoring my energy.

And most importantly—I started changing my inner monologue.

The voice that said I wasn’t enough, or too much, or not doing enough—

I replaced it with gentleness. With truth.

Now I say things like,

“You’re doing your best.”

“You deserve peace.”

“You are allowed to begin again.”

And if you're reading this, let me say this to you:

You don’t have to wait for a breakdown to begin your healing.

You don’t have to be perfect to be worthy of help.

Therapy is powerful.

So is rest. So is self-trust. So is saying, “I want more for myself.”

Healing doesn’t have one look. It might be your first yoga class. Your first boundary. Your first tear after years of numbness.

It might be forgiving yourself for the things you didn’t know then.

It might be finally releasing the hurt you’ve been clutching like a shield.

Whatever healing looks like for you—choose it.

Stop caring about how others see you, and start falling in love with how you see yourself.

Because the truth is, your power has been waiting for you this whole time.

I’m still becoming. Still learning. Still unlearning.

But now I do it with intention, with softness, and with style.

This is a space to pour the lessons, the love, the luxury of healing into something beautiful.

And if you're on your own path back to yourself, you’re not alone.

your journey doesn’t stop here.