Some pain doesn’t just pass with time—it sits in the body, tucked beneath the skin, showing up when you least expect it. That’s how the betrayal felt. Like a sharp crack in a branch I thought was sturdy. Like the wind changed suddenly, and I was left exposed.
Divorce or separation isn’t just an ending—it’s an unraveling. Of dreams. Of shared language. Of the version of myself that once believed “forever” was a promise that couldn’t be broken. I didn’t just lose a relationship—I lost the safety I thought I had in another person. And maybe even in myself.
But I’ve learned this: nature doesn’t rush healing. A tree doesn’t mourn its broken limb forever—but it does take time to seal the wound. The bark thickens, slowly. The scar stays, but the tree keeps growing. Maybe even stronger. Maybe even more aware of the winds next time.
Healing, for me, hasn’t been about forgetting or pretending it didn’t hurt. It’s been about learning to hold that hurt gently, without letting it harden me. It’s about creating a life that feels honest. Grounded. Mine.
I don’t believe some divine hand is guiding this process. I believe I am. That we, as humans, have the capacity to repair, to rebuild, to reimagine what comes next. My healing has come in small, earthy ways—honest conversations, fresh air, cooking a simple meal, resting when my body says “enough.”
There is nothing mystical about it—just the real, raw work of becoming whole again.I’m not all the way there. But I’m showing up. Rooting into what remains. Learning to trust the ground beneath me, even when it shifted.
This is what I know now: deep hurt doesn’t get to write the end of my story. I do.