She doesn’t know how to feel anymore. One moment, she thinks she’s healing. The next, she’s questioning everything about herself. One moment, she’s laughing like she’s finally free. The next, she’s holding back tears, trying to keep from falling apart. She just hopes that one day, or maybe someday, it’ll all make sense. Until then, she’s healing, stumbling, learning, and growing—one day at a time. It’s a raw, messy kind of journey, isn’t it? The back-and-forth of emotions isn’t a sign of failure, but of humanity. Healing doesn’t follow a straight line; it’s more like waves, ebbs and flows that test your resilience. The laughter? That’s the spark of reclaiming joy, of finding fragments of herself again. The tears? That’s the weight of what hurt her, finally getting space to surface. It’s okay that it feels fragmented—those moments don’t define her worth, they’re part of the unraveling.
The “one day it’ll make sense” is a gentle anchor, a whisper of hope in the chaos. Sense-making comes with time, not on a schedule. What matters is that she’s showing up, even in the stumbles. Each small step, each breath, is a form of resistance against the pain. Learning and growing don’t happen overnight, and the one-day-at-a-time pace is perfectly brave. It’s in the tiny acts of self-compassion—the pauses to breathe, the choice to laugh again, the permission to feel whatever comes—that healing unfolds.
If you’re with her, or if you’re her, know this: the confusion is temporary. The hope is valid. And the growth? It’s happening, even in the moments she doesn’t see it. Want to talk about what helps her take the next small step, or how to be kind to herself in the in-between moments
