Recently I’ve been thinking a lot about progress. And what real progress means when you’re going through recovery and overcoming trauma. It’s so far from linear. It’s fucking crazy to me to think that two years ago I was struggling harder than I ever have before, sitting at the edge of what looked like an infinite abyss of depression and pain. No clear way out. And one year ago I was so deep into my healing I knew I could never go back there. But I was still suffering in a lot of ways. I had gone to treatment. I began to learn more about my own truths, no matter how dark and painful. I began to face my fears and demons with love and compassion and although I still didn’t see an end in sight— I kept going. But these years of recovery have been nothing of ups and downs and back and forths and fucking over and fucking under and... just. A lot. Going from feeling whole and grasping clarity, to a sobbing, hyperventilating, disassociating ball of fear and sadness and flashbacks on a somewhat regular basis really takes a toll on your soul. Though— A year later I feel radiant. But damn has it beeen a journey of learning to trust this process and those that are there to support me. I have some darker days still and some much much better ones. Eating disorders, PTSD, sexual abuse/trauma, substance abuse — these are all things that take time to heal. And so much forgiveness. And gentleness. And kindness. I see this now. And even when I’m feeling terrible, I try to remember to allow these things for myself.
I’ve realized, if we just give ourselves these things, even when we are suffering, we create space for hope. And when we create space for hope, we begin to heal. Believe in your ability to have hope. Anyone out there struggling right now, be gentle with yourself. It takes time. And this shit is fucking hard. I see you.