Your chest tightens. Your nervous system feels under fire and besieged. I swear healing has me feeling like morning hangovers.
You feel like you’re rotting from the inside out, but it’s not decay… it’s purging.
It’s one of the most debilitating sensations you will ever experience, and that’s the point.
Real healing is not cute. It’s never social media-worthy.
Healing is the universe pulling you out of everything you were never meant to carry, and your body, mind, and spirit fight it because they don’t recognize your freedom yet.
Actual healing is no joke. It’s miserable, actually. You feel split open because you’re essentially shedding.
Because healing is supposed to rattle you, destabilize you, make you so uncomfortable that you can no longer tolerate living in your old operating system. It forces you out of survival mode and into truth.
Healing is standing face-to-face with God, no background noise, no distractions, no person manipulating you, validating you, or holding your hand through the chaos.
And it hits people right in the sternum because no one talks about this part. People dress healing up in lavender-scented lies, as if I could journal my way out of generational trauma. It looks ridiculous by society’s standards.
Healing is not pretty. It’s violent. It’s extremely lonely. It strips you. It ruins your old life so that you can rebuild a new one.
You’re meant to purge all of it. Every lie, every wound, every false identity that kept you playing small.
My healing journey began after I gave birth to my son in 2021. I don’t mean to sound cliché here, but motherhood really did shift my entire vantage point. I no longer started thinking just for myself, but about what my life would entail involving my little one.
It’s one of those experiences where spirituality comes into play. Having my son forced me to face every single shadow I was running away from. Every trauma bond, every toxic friendship, every relationship I tried to romanticize into meaning. I wanted to understand my habits and the environment I came from.
I didn’t grow up in wealth. I grew up in a home where silence was obedience.
Where silence made you more palatable. Where emotions were dangerous. Where I learned to read the room before I ever learned to read a book.
Friendships that became dull and one-sided. Relationships that weren’t fulfilling me.
So I adapted and shrank myself to fit in. I became the version of myself that caused the least disruption. But the thing about playing small is that my soul started to suffocate.
I wasn’t truly happy. I wasn’t fulfilled inside. I didn’t feel peace or safe in my environment. I knew that if I didn’t change, I’d be repeating that cycle down to my son, down my bloodline.
My worldview was dimmed and muted. I couldn’t take it anymore. I didn’t realize it then, but the universe was preparing me. It was weakening everything I was misaligned with so it could pull me into who I actually was.
That revelation is what liberated me.
I knew I felt different because I refused to be the byproduct of my environment. I especially refused to pass down trauma wounds to my son. It ends with me.
I kept repeating that mantra at my lowest points: “It ends with me.”
Over and over again.
For some reason, those words felt like home to me. They grounded me when my world was chaotic.
It became embedded in my psyche. I’m telling you, I was becoming almost obsessed with rewiring my entire system. It wasn’t because I hated myself. I never hated myself, but I didn’t enjoy being in survival mode my entire life. I was stuck.
Healing is one of the scariest experiences I’ve ever had. It’s probably why I decided to write about this topic for my first blog post. It tricks you into thinking this is forever. That this is permanence. That you aren’t getting better, but rather it’s getting worse.
One of the most overlooked parts of healing is silence.
The kind that allows you to hear your own thoughts without interference.
In Outwitting the Devil, Napoleon Hill (which, by the way, is a life-changing book and highly recommended) talks about how most people live in a state of “drift,” constantly influenced by noise, fear, and outside voices.
Healing begins the moment your inner voice becomes the loudest noise. So loud that it gives you clarity to return to.
Nothing will shatter you faster than being called into a life your old self couldn’t survive. It’s the place where you’re in between shedding your old life and beginning a new chapter.
The things meant for you will stay.
The things that aren’t will begin to wither away.
Healing is a real flex. It’s one of those energetic forces that confuses people as they try to figure out who you are now. Who you’ve become.
I became the spirit who refuses to become small.
The mother who stayed.
The healer my lineage never saw coming.
The woman my bloodline is cheering for. The woman my inner child always needed. The woman who refuses to harden.
Healing is stripping who you no longer are so you can become someone you finally feel safe being.
The thing is, you don’t realize you already have what it takes.
Remember the mindset you had as a child. No insecurities. Nothing is holding you back. You just went for it.
That’s what healing was like for me. I remembered the person I was before I absorbed the trauma of others. Before I was told I couldn’t become something, not because I wasn’t capable, but because I was surrounded by people who gave up before they even started. They never gave themselves a fair shot at life, so they projected that fear onto me.
Ask yourself the most life-changing questions next time:
Am I capable?
What will this mean for me and my family?
Is this insecurity mine, or someone else’s?
How can I become the version of myself that not even toxicity can reach?
Truth is, you’ve got what it takes. You just need to excavate it and quiet the noise. You’ll find your clarity.
You will get your life back the moment you drop other people’s limits.
But it all starts with a choice.
