I used to think healing would feel like arrival.
Like one day I’d wake up with no ache, no guilt, no longing.
But healing hasn’t looked like that for me.
It’s looked more like:
getting out of bed anyway.
making space for silence.
and not trying to fill it with someone new, or something louder.

There are still days I think about you more than I want to.
Still moments where I reach for my phone like a reflex,
as if the habit of loving you hasn’t caught up with the reality of not having you.

But then I breathe.
I come back to now.
I remind myself that love isn’t always about return.
Sometimes, it’s about repair—
and sometimes that repair has to happen alone.

I’ve started showing up for myself in ways I didn’t before.
Saying no to chaos.
Letting go of the story where I’m only valuable when I’m wanted.
Taking responsibility without chaining myself to shame.

It’s slow.
Some days I do it well.
Some days I spiral.
But every day, I choose not to run from the pain,
because running is how I got here in the first place.

You don’t have to witness it.
You don’t even have to believe it.
But I wanted it written—
so that if you ever wonder whether I stayed in the same place…
you’ll know I didn’t.

I’m healing.
Not perfectly.
Not loudly.
But truly.

—M