People say, "Heal so you don't break people with your broken pieces". But what does healing really mean? No one ever teaches us how. There's no step-by-step manual, no guide for what to do with the heaviness we carry. We're left trying to breathe through wounds we don't fully understand, reacting in anger or silence, wondering why we feel so broken when nothing is visibly wrong. The truth is, most of us are still living with pain that started since childhood, pain that didn't get a voice, so it stayed inside us, shaping how we see love, how we handle closeness, how we push people away before they get too near.
But I'm slowly understanding that healing isn't about forgetting. It's not about pretending the past didn't happen. It's about understanding why it still hurts. It's about sitting with that innocent, inner child that was once ignored, abandoned, or afraid and telling them they mattered. It's about being honest with how certain moments still live in our chest, still make our hands shake, still stop us from letting love in. Healing is quiet. It's slow. Most time, it's ugly. But it's choosing not to bleed on people who didn't cut us. It's learning to hold ourselves gently, even when we still feel unworthy.
Healing doesn't promise that we will be whole again. But it gives us a chance to stop running, and finally come home to ourselves.