The Sacred Work of Becoming
From The Healing Series
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You can feel when it’s happening.
It doesn’t feel like fixing.
It feels like remembering.
It feels like finally saying yes to the voice that’s been whispering beneath the noise:
“There is more for you.”
More joy that doesn’t have to be earned.
More love that doesn’t have to be proven.
More life that doesn’t require your self-abandonment as the entry fee.
But here's the paradox:
Hope can hurt just as much as pain.
Because hope dares to imagine a future that’s different from your past.
And if you’ve lived in the wilderness long enough,
even the idea of a promised land can feel dangerous.
So we self-sabotage.
We numb.
We rehearse old scripts.
We tell ourselves, “This is enough,” when it’s not.
We stay safe instead of open.
Because if you’ve never known what it’s like to be held gently,
to be chosen without condition,
to be seen in your wholeness without someone flinching—
then joy can feel like a setup.
That’s why healing asks for more than processing the pain.
It asks for courage to stay open when beauty shows up.
Healing teaches your nervous system how to trust goodness.
It reconditions your soul to say yes to safety.
It slows down your reflex to hide.
And it softens the places that once believed love would cost too much to keep.
This is why you’re tired.
This is why it sometimes feels like you’re unraveling.
You are.
But only the parts that were never yours to carry in the first place.
And what’s emerging is not a better version of your past self.
It’s a sacred version of your true self.
You are not healing to become invincible.
You are healing to become reachable.
To be reached by grace.
By presence.
By the quiet glance of a stranger in a grocery store who reminds you:
“You’re still here. And you’re still worthy of love.”
NEXT: The Invitation to Those Who Are Healing Quietly
For the ones healing in silence, holding it all together—this is for you.
