It Still Hurts Sometimes—And That’s Okay

Learning to honor your healing even when old wounds get reopened.

I’ve done so much work to heal.

I’ve unraveled patterns. I’ve stepped away from people who weren’t good for my nervous system. I’ve written pages and pages in my journal. I’ve prayed. I’ve sobbed. I’ve sat in silence and chosen—over and over again—not to go back to places I don’t belong.

But even with all that work, even with all the clarity and boundaries and breathwork and growth… it still hurts sometimes.

This past week, someone from my past said something unkind about me to someone I love. It was petty. It was unnecessary. It was the kind of thing that years ago would have sent me spiraling for days.

And for a moment—it did.

Not for days. But for a few solid, soul-shaking hours.

It hit me right in the gut. Shame. Panic. That sense of being misunderstood and defenseless. I felt like my body was bracing for an impact I couldn’t stop. My nervous system lit up with all the old alarms: You’re not safe. You’re not okay. You don’t belong.

I knew I had to do something before it consumed me.

So I wrote. I poured it all out in my journal—every tangled, reactive thought. I didn’t censor it. I didn’t try to make it wise or pretty. I just let it spill, because I’ve learned that words held in the body become weight. And I was already carrying too much.

Then I took a bath. I sank into the warmth and let the water hold what I couldn’t. I cried. I breathed. I remembered that the goal isn’t to never get triggered—the goal is to know what to do when you are.

And slowly, I came back to myself.

Not perfectly. Not with some magical clarity or forgiveness or resolution.

But I came back.

And that’s the thing I’m holding onto.

Because healing doesn’t mean it doesn’t hurt anymore. It means it doesn’t take over. It means I know how to take care of myself in the aftermath. It means I don’t abandon myself to prove I’m okay.

If something recently knocked you off balance—if a word, a memory, a glance pulled you back into a place you worked hard to leave—I want you to know: you’re not doing it wrong. You’re still healing. You’re still growing. And this is part of it.

We don’t measure progress by how unfazed we are.

We measure it by how we come home to ourselves after the storm.

So if today you need to cry in the bath, or write it out, or take a walk just to remember you’re safe in your own skin—that’s not a setback. That’s sacred.

You’re learning. You’re shedding. You’re healing.

And every time you come back to yourself a little sooner than before—that counts.