So much of the healing process for me has been about the shameless and fearless integration of all of the best parts of the versions of – well, me. Unapologetically plastering a person together with pieces that I have saved, scraped off the floor, or created from scratch with a helping hand from Grace.
I am 40 years old. Young to some, ancient to others. In my heart, I feel like I’ve lived a thousand years but my brain still says otherwise. The contrast between the conflicting sides of the different lives I have experienced has almost disappeared completely, although there are times I still feel like a traitor. Like I am pretending to be this person even though nothing could be further from the truth.
The pull between my “old life” and the new one I have created has all but faded so much that it is just a fleeting shadow. Flashes from traumatic memories are almost nonexistent, mostly conjured now by something as calm and simple as the hook of an old song. All condensed down to short flashes of a life that I am more than happy to continue to let go of and unafraid to confront if the moment presents itself.
I don’t feel like I am riding a wave oblivious to some impending, inevitable crash. I have leaned into the day-to-day of sobriety and healing. The days come and go, thankfully without chaos or looming feelings of me f*cking everything up.
I suppose this is what I want people to know. That is the mundane. The quiet. The days that feel calm, peaceful, and sometimes monotonous -are beautiful. They’re everything you imagined them to be and they’re not out of your grasp or saved for only a few elite people who do special things. they are just there waiting for you to allow them to flow.
Healing grows over time and you learn to apply the things you’ve absorbed. Just because you might struggle sometimes or have hard days doesn’t negate the work you have put in, the growth you have worked for, or the peace you so look forward to every day.
Healing is peace, not perfection.
I am proud of you for being here.