Healing, for me, looks like this: being able to pick up the phone and talk to my support worker. Sitting with a friend. Connecting with people I met along the way, people who understand without me having to explain everything. That is healing. Maybe it sounds small, but for a long time, I did not have that.

When I think about how far I have come, I think about my niece. I think about the fact that I have been out of the hospital for nine years. Nine years. Sometimes I need to stop and let that land. That is not nothing. That is everything.

Healing was not always like this. It was hard, especially in the beginning, when I was carrying a past that felt too heavy and too shameful to speak out loud. When I finally did speak, not everyone believed me right away. That kind of pain runs deep. Being hurt by people who were supposed to keep you safe, and then not being believed — that stays with you.

And honestly, some things are still hard. At night, when I lie down to sleep, my mind sometimes goes back. My body remembers things even when I wish it would not. I am learning that this is part of it. It does not mean I am not healing. It just means I am human.

What I have learned is to love myself. To stay strong. To be brave, even on the days when brave just means getting out of bed.

If you are reading this and you feel like you are not healing fast enough, I want you to hear me: it takes time. That is not a failure. That is just the truth. Go day by day. Some days, go hour by hour. Be strong, but also be gentle with yourself.

You are still here. So am I. And that matters more than you know.