There was a time I thought healing meant erasing.

That somehow, if I was truly over it, I wouldn’t think about it anymore.

I wouldn’t remember the words that broke me,

the nights I cried myself to sleep, the moments I felt invisible in rooms I showed up for with all my heart.

I thought healing meant forgetting it all — as if the pain had to vanish for me to move forward.

But I’ve learned…

healing doesn’t mean forgetting.

It means remembering differently.

Now, I can revisit those memories without my voice shaking. I can sit with what once crushed me and feel peace instead of panic.

I still remember the betrayal, the heartbreak, the deep ache of disappointment — but it doesn’t own me anymore.

That’s healing.

It’s not about pretending it didn’t happen — it’s about becoming someone who’s no longer defined by it.

Healing is when the memory comes but the tears don’t.

The triggers lessen.

And the self-blame fades.

You stop asking what was wrong with you — and start understanding that what happened wasn’t your fault.

It’s slow. It’s messy.

But one day, you’ll wake up and realize that you remember all of it and you’re still standing.

That’s how I knew I was healing.

Not when I forgot, 

But when I remembered and didn’t break.

If this is your journey too, I see you. I’m proud of you🩵. You’re not alone in this.