I believe healing is making peace with yourself — with the present you, and all the past versions of you who did the best they could in their time.
Healing is not a race. It is not a checklist or a destination you arrive at one day. It is a slow art — a delicate unfolding of your soul, a quiet weaving of grace through the everyday moments.
We live in a world that celebrates speed, achievement, and “fixing” ourselves quickly. Healing has become a buzzword lately, tossed around on social media and wellness blogs like it’s some instant fix. But maybe that’s just society’s way of telling us something deeper: that we all have wounds, struggles, and pasts we need to acknowledge and understand.
Personally, I’ve lived with anxiety since my freshman year of high school. It has been a quiet but powerful force in my life, dominating moments I didn’t expect it to — like the simple act of getting gas, or bigger challenges like self-sabotaging opportunities and relationships. Anxiety whispered doubts, made me shrink in social settings, and clouded my peace for years. For a long time, I didn’t even fully realize how much it controlled me.
Healing, for me, has been a winding path. It began with small steps: noticing when my mind spiraled, learning to breathe through panic, and allowing myself to say “no” when I felt overwhelmed. I discovered that I am a people pleaser — someone who prioritizes others’ happiness, often at the expense of my own needs and boundaries. That realization was both freeing and heartbreaking. It explained so many patterns of self-sabotage, like pushing myself too hard or avoiding opportunities out of fear of failure or rejection.
Through therapy, journaling, and quiet reflection, I’ve begun to rewrite the stories I told myself about worthiness and success. Healing has not been about fixing a broken self, but about accepting every part of me — including the anxious, fearful, and imperfect parts — with kindness.
I still have to heal, every day. Some days are harder than others. Some days I still slip into old patterns. But now I catch myself. I breathe. I choose differently. And that’s what healing is.
Real-Life Practices That Actually Help When You’re Healing
Healing doesn’t have to look perfect. It’s not about a 5-step morning routine with lemon water and yoga at sunrise (unless that’s your thing). For me, healing looks a lot messier — and a lot more honest.
Here are some real practices that have helped me come back to myself, especially on the hard days:
✦ Get off your phone
Seriously. Put it down. You don’t need to scroll through a highlight reel when your brain already feels loud. Disconnect so you can actually hear yourself think.
✦ Move your body — even if it’s just a walk
Walk. Stretch. Dance around your room. Go outside and move, even if it’s slow. You don’t have to “work out” — you just have to show your body that it’s alive and safe.
✦ Breathe on purpose
Not in a “meditate for 45 minutes” way. Just sit still and breathe. In through your nose. Out through your mouth. Do it a few times and let your shoulders drop. It helps more than you think.
✦ Journal — it doesn’t need to be pretty
I used to think I had to have a bullet journal with highlighters and perfect handwriting. My journal looks like a second grader scribbled all their feelings into it. And that’s the point. It’s not about how it looks. It’s about telling the truth somewhere.
✦ Get to know yourself
This one takes time. Pay attention to what makes you feel drained, what gives you energy, what triggers you, what brings peace. Say no when something feels off — to people, places, things, events. You don’t have to explain yourself.
Healing Is Still Happening
Healing doesn’t end when you “feel better.” It keeps going — as you grow, as life changes, as new challenges rise up. It happens when you stop trying to outrun your past and start learning how to live with it.
It’s not glamorous. It’s not perfect. It’s quiet, and steady, and real. And it’s worth everything.
You are allowed to take your time.
You are worthy of peace.
And in this slow unfolding, you are becoming whole.
Fearlessly yours,
Abbey