Coming Home to Myself
Healing is not a destination. It’s not a place you arrive at, where everything suddenly makes sense, and the past no longer aches. Healing is a journey—a slow, winding path with detours, setbacks, and moments of clarity that feel like sunlight breaking through heavy clouds. For so long, I thought healing meant erasing the past. If I could just forget, if I could just move on, then maybe I would be whole. But I’ve come to realise that wholeness isn’t about forgetting—it’s about integrating. It’s about taking the broken pieces and making something beautiful out of them. Some days, the weight of old wounds still presses against my ribs. Some nights, echoes of past pain whisper in the quiet. But I am learning to sit with it, to hold myself gently, to remind myself that I am more than my scars. Healing is in the small moments—the way I breathe deeper now, the way I listen to my body instead of punishing it, the way I choose love over fear, again and again. I am not the same person I was...