Last year broke me in ways I did not have language for at the time. I left an abusive marriage with nothing but my body, a Siamese kitten and a quiet instinct that said, stay alive. Three months later, right when I started to feel safe, my dad died unexpectedly after I’d finally rekindled my relationship with him after nearly 10 years. And grief does this strange thing where it does not arrive politely. It piled up. It sat on my chest. It made ordinary days feel impossible. There were weeks where healing felt like a myth people told when they had support systems and energy and hope. I did not have much of any of that. I had mornings where getting out of bed felt like a negotiation with myself. I had nights where I wondered if this was just who I would be now. But somewhere between survival and surrender, something shifted. Not all at once. Not dramatically. I started choosing myself in quiet ways. Drinking water. Taking walks. Telling the truth about how bad it was. Laughing again, even when it felt disloyal to my grief. Letting joy exist beside sadness instead of waiting for one to cancel the other. Healing did not make me forget. It made me softer with myself. I am still here. And some days, that feels like a miracle. #depression #healingoutloud #grief #foryoupage #majordepressivedisorder
