I've jokingly said that if I knew how long and how painful the healing journey was, I wouldn't have started. Some days that's how I feel, and I ask myself, "Why did I start this journey?"
In my worst moments, it seems as if the healing takes place one day at a time, or perhaps even one small step a year. And yet I know I'm moving forward. My healing is taking place.
The intense anguish and sometimes stinging feelings tell me that I am moving forward.
On my best days (and they're becoming increasingly more often) I tell myself, “I’m glad I struggled and fought for my healing. It’s been worth re-experiencing the pain."
In my worst moments, it seems as if the healing takes place one day at a time, or perhaps even one small step a year. And yet I know I'm moving forward. My healing is taking place.
The intense anguish and sometimes stinging feelings tell me that I am moving forward.
On my best days (and they're becoming increasingly more often) I tell myself, “I’m glad I struggled and fought for my healing. It’s been worth re-experiencing the pain."
The pain is still real;
The pain would be worse if I didn't deal with it.
(This post is adapted from Not Quite Healed, by Cecil Murphey and Gary Roe.)
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