The Heart of Healing

Healing, sometimes, is honoring the story— understanding its origins and where it was written within you. It doesn’t matter how false and ridiculously untrue that story may be — because it will feel true and real and insanely hard to see through.
To get beneath it, to uproot it, means crawling inside of it for a little while, to see the reasons behind why it is there— to feel your way into the narrative as you wade through all of what feels jagged and broken and hard and murky. You have to go into the heart of that story and into these things that hold you so tightly to them.
We are never fixed to anything, we can always move— away from and through… just like water.
These things exist and were birthed within us for reasons beyond what we sometimes understand— all I know, is when you’re on the other side, turning that corner, you’ll understand why this was so big for you— this “thing” you can’t seem to shake— you’ll see the gift in it and all the ways that you needed it. And it won’t seem nearly as big as it always did. I guess that’s just what happens when we choose healing. Healing somehow takes the hurt and shrinks it— little by little, until all the parts just fade into each other. Healing smooths our edges and rounds our corners and makes the slate cleaner— it breaks us wide open for the new. It takes our old story and morphs it into a beautiful transition.
So, there are hundreds of blank pages… waiting for a new story. A new chapter.
Waiting for you to write it, in the way that feels like you always imagined it would.
They will be there, when you turn the corner— pristine and smooth and blank and fresh.
Just fresh white pages.
You’ll breathe deep and wide and you’ll write something new.
You’ll write the new story.
And this new story will be different in the way that it will fit you far better than the old one did.
We have no say in the old of what was and we have all the say in the new— of what will be.
All else are just transitions. Beautiful, hard, sometimes, unruly transitions.

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