People like to ask me what healing looks like.
Maybe they can’t comprehend what it feels like to be broken.
Maybe they’re not sure how to approach the brokenness in me.
Maybe they’re trying to heal themselves.
It would be so much easier if I had an answer to their questions.
But this is what I’ll tell you.
Healing might look like mounds of sweet potato fries and glasses of Cabernet.
Healing might look like 97 hours of John Mayer.
Healing might look like hours of podcasts and coffee shops and pages of a journal.
Healing might look like the arms of familiar, yet unfamiliar men.
It might look like nights in the bathroom floor, vomiting over and over, releasing everything inside me.
Or it might look like sleeping the day away.
I’m not so sure what healing looks like.
I haven’t found it yet.
But I do know that it involves a lot of overthinking.
It involves people you love.
It involves long nights by the fireplace.
And endless amounts of laughter.
It involves good books.
And inspiring women.
Women like yourself.
It involves many tears
And even more hugs
And it involves lots
Someday you’ll know the secret.
Someday you’ll know what heals your heart.
But for now
All you know
Without a doubt
Is that healing takes time.
And that there’s plenty of that to go around.