7.7
September 14, 2020

When I say “I’m Healing,” it doesn’t Mean I have my Sh*t Together. 

It’s rare for people to talk about their growing pains—the one that comes along with the journey of healing our biggest fears and traumas.

I know I haven’t been one to lay all my darkest moments on the table, but I would like to be real.

I want to say that this healing sh*t is hard.

There were nights when I couldn’t sleep because I couldn’t stop crying. There were days that I spent trying to occupy my mind when all my soul wanted was to be heard. There were times I fell to my living room floor with tears streaming down my face, while my whole life seemed to be so messed up and falling apart.

It felt like all the walls I had built crumbled around me—I was convinced that I did life wrong.

It only takes a moment for everything to change. I was living life unconsciously—living in fear and in a state of moving through the motions—and denying the love I embodied. I allowed myself to project my insecurities onto others without knowing the truth of why it felt so uncomfortable.

Then came the moment when everything changed: the loss of a loved one, the grieving of the life I thought I was meant to have, and the total destruction of everything I had set my mind into.

I no longer felt as though I fit into the life I had created, and I was lost. All my emotions boiled over—anger, sadness, and fear. They all came to the surface as I tried to justify and reason my way out of the scariest moments of feeling lost.

But like I said, once the moment of change comes, everything changes. That moment for me was the realization that my life was not meant to be the way I had been living it.

As I cried, confused as to why all this happened, I also accepted my fate, as I knew my life was about to change.

After this realization, I knew there was no going back.

Once we realize that the life we’re living is not the life that is truly meant for us, we subconsciously know that we shouldn’t look back. We might try if we want to, but it’s clear that with every passing day, the pain we endure is only meant to teach us something.

We ask, “What is to come from all this confusion, the feeling of loneliness, being lost, and the time spent alone and confused looking for an answer to why this is happening?”

We have to trust that this path is meant for us and hope that all the tears and nights laying awake are worth it.

The only option we have is to have faith—faith in ourselves that we will be okay, and faith in the universe that it will guide us out of the time we spend drowning in our thoughts.

I used to cry to a friend over the phone, without being able to explain why I had so many emotions coming to the surface. I soon learned that I was healing, and there was no reason for my tears other than to feel what my soul had buried deep within.

Once we delve deeper into our journey, the nights of overthinking and crying might subside, but they don’t leave—they are never gone forever. Now when they make an appearance, it feels like a huge wave of emotions that blindside me.

Yes, maybe I can work through it and understand it better, but I can’t ignore the fact that it still hurts.

I had days when I was totally in my divine energy, loving life, and living freely in my being. Then I went to bed and my fears fled my mind as if I had given permission to my ego to speak. It was scary and daunting to be there alone, having to listen to all my deepest and darkest fears become thoughts. But I gained experience and slowly learned to separate myself from them.

I learned that I was the observer. But that took energy and time, and in order to practice this, thoughts still needed to show up.

I still cry, and I still question myself. I experience nights when my anxiety gets the better of me.

Have I grown? Yes, immensely.

Do I love who I am? Absolutely.

Am I proud of myself? Hell yeah!

I see this as a life journey rather than a chapter. What would I learn if I don’t go through the tough days and fear being alone? It’s in those moments that I learned that I have a habit of checking my phone, watching videos, or eating, especially when I don’t want to deal with what’s going on inside of me.

There is no shame in the process, and there is no guilt in taking time to grow.

When I first had my awakening experience, I turned to social media to find people I could connect with. I admit that because of it, I felt unworthy as if my healing was meant to look a certain way.

I thought I was supposed to be happy all the time or be positive and spread light. Little did I know that only my darkest days would allow me to become the brightest being of light, and that only through those times of fear could I gain the love that I needed to offer myself to others.

I compared myself to all the coaches and writers who seemingly had their sh*t together. But not all these folks were woke when they began their journey. This is not how a healing journey begins—it’s not rainbows and butterflies, and it’s not about the affirmations and gratitude lists. Sometimes, it’s about making it through the day, getting out of bed, and maybe even talking to someone.

When I look back at the woman I was when all of this began, all I want to tell her is, “This journey is hard, so embrace it, and don’t be afraid to feel and admit when you are scared.”

The moment I came to terms with my fears was the moment I allowed myself to heal—I allowed myself to explore the thoughts and understand where they came from.

The moment I spoke my fears out loud, I affirmed to myself that I am worthy of being heard and that my feelings matter.

To this day, I make sure to be open to myself about what it is that scares me and what it is that I want because only then am I able to fully accept myself.

I don’t want to glorify my experience. From the outside looking in, and to someone who hasn’t had an awakening experience, it might not make any sense, and that’s okay. They don’t have to understand, and that’s the beauty of it.

There will be people who want to understand. The ones who are truly there for us will not criticize but instead will hold space for our experience—but others might not.

Sometimes, I declined invitations because I felt like staying home, reading, crying, and sitting with myself. This was what I needed, but my friends took my absence as being offensive. They didn’t get my journey, and now we are no longer friends.

At the time, it was devastating and hurtful, but now I see it as an important lesson in my journey.

I am not an expert on awakenings, by any means. I know it’s different for everyone, but I also know that this doesn’t make it any easier. Every journey is equally difficult as pain is a universal emotion.

We’re doing the best we can, and most importantly, we’re doing it.

No matter what that looks like, the fact that our soul has showed up for this change and has embraced this path is amazing.

You’re amazing.

Keep going.

Keep learning, and embrace the discomfort because with that, comes a sense of love for yourself that you never thought was possible.

The light you shine and the change you bring are magic.

Thank you for enduring these moments, because it truly impacts us all.

~

 

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