What Healing Feels Like (and What No One Talks About)

I used to think healing would feel like peace.

Like finally arriving.

Like crossing a finish line where everything made sense and I could finally exhale.

Instead, it feels more like a gentle kick in the pants… followed by a nap I never got to take.

Spoiler: it doesn’t feel like peace. Not always.
And no one really talks about what it actually feels like.

Healing feels like… crying over something that happened ten years ago and realizing it still hurts.

It feels like questioning your worth on the same day you’re telling someone else how worthy they are.

It feels like joy and shame living in the same moment — like doing an ugly cry in your car and then laughing at yourself two minutes later because, well… what even was that?

Sometimes it feels like progress.

Other days it feels like confusion, exhaustion, or even silence — the kind where you’re just staring at a wall with a snack you forgot you were holding.

And that’s when I realized something:

People talk about growth like it’s a straight line.

But in my experience, healing is a spiral.

You revisit old wounds — not because you’re broken, but because you’re strong enough now to face them in new ways (or at least, strong enough to stop pretending they don’t exist and instead cry about them in the shower like a functional adult).

Some days, I feel like I’m making progress.

Other days, it’s like I’m right back where I started — except now I have better boundaries and slightly more expensive coping mechanisms.

And honestly… that back-and-forth is still part of it.

Because healing isn’t a straight path.

It’s messy. It loops. It circles. It stretches you in ways you never asked for — like emotional yoga, but without the cute outfit or relaxing music.

And in the middle of that mess, there are parts no one really talks about.

Like feeling guilty when you set boundaries.

Or grieving the people you’ve outgrown — the ones who once felt like home.

Or carrying shame even after you’ve done the work to forgive.

Or discovering parts of yourself you didn’t know existed… and then feeling lonely in the process.

Or being exhausted from always being “resilient” (which, honestly, should come with snacks and a trophy).

No one talks about the fact that healing can feel heavy — even when it’s right.

But here’s what I’ve learned:

It’s still worth it. Every single time.

Because in those quiet, gritty moments — the ones where you’re curled up on the bathroom floor or talking to the moon — you’re building a life that finally belongs to you.

Even if you’re building it one meltdown and microwave meal at a time.