Healing is not a straight line.
It is not a sunrise that suddenly ends the night, nor a switch that turns off the pain. Healing is slower, quieter, and often invisible to those around you.

It looks like crying one night and laughing the next.
It looks like carrying the ache but still choosing to show up for the day.
It looks like telling yourself you’re okay, even when you know you’re not — and slowly, one day, realizing you mean it.

For a long time, I thought healing would feel like forgetting you.
That one day I would wake up and the memories wouldn’t sting, that your absence would no longer echo in the silence. But I’ve learned that healing is not forgetting. It is learning how to live with the memory without letting it break me anymore.

Healing is finding joy without guilt.
It is daring to dream again, not because the past is gone, but because the future still deserves a chance.
It is carrying scars without shame, and letting them remind me of how much I have survived.

Some days, healing still feels like breaking.
But then I remember — every scar, every tear, every trembling breath has led me here. Stronger. Softer. More alive.

So no, healing does not look perfect.
It does not look clean, or easy, or quick.
But it is real.
And every small step I take, every smile I dare, every tear I allow — they are all proof that I am healing.

And that, in itself, is enough.

Always and Forever

💬 What does healing look like for you? Share your truth in the comments — your words might be someone’s lifeline today.