Better late than never 🤍

I’m sorry this week’s post is late.

This week has been a lot, and I know that life happens, but I also know consistency is important to me. I’m trying to hold myself accountable without tearing myself apart in the process.

So I’m here.

A little late.
A little drained.
But here.

I hope everyone out there is doing okay, because if I’m being completely real, this week has not been kind to me.

I really thought forgiveness would feel different.

I thought once I forgave the people who hurt me, stopped carrying the anger, and decided to let karma handle whatever wasn’t mine to carry anymore, I would finally feel free.

I thought something inside of me would click.

Like, okay. I forgave them. I chose peace. Now I can breathe.

But it didn’t happen like that.

And I think that’s been one of the hardest things for me to accept.

You can forgive somebody and still hurt.

You can understand why you need to move forward and still have parts of you stuck somewhere in the past.

You can tell yourself that you’re safe now, and somehow your body still reacts like you aren’t.

That’s where I’ve been lately.

There are things happening inside of me that I don’t really know how to explain without telling parts of my story that I’m not ready to tell.

Some things are still mine.

Some things I’m still trying to understand myself.

But what I can say is that there are moments when my body remembers things I desperately wish it could forget.

And it is such a strange kind of pain when mentally you’re trying so hard to keep moving forward, but your body keeps pulling you back into something you already survived.

That has been my reality this week.

Trying to remind myself where I am.
Trying to remind myself that the past is the past.
Trying to stay present when something inside of me feels anything but present.

And honestly, I’m tired.

Not the kind of tired that sleep fixes.

The kind of tired that comes from fighting battles nobody around you can see.

I’m learning that forgiveness doesn’t erase what happened.

It doesn’t rewrite the memory.
It doesn’t automatically calm your nervous system.
It doesn’t make every wound disappear just because you decided you don’t want to hate anymore.

Maybe forgiveness was never supposed to fix everything.

Maybe it was just me finally putting down one piece of the weight.

And maybe healing is what comes after that.

Slowly.
Messily.
Quietly.

I still don’t regret forgiving.

Because I didn’t do it for them.

I did it because I was tired of letting what happened have so much access to me.

I did it because I wanted my power back.

And even though I’m realizing now that reclaiming yourself takes a lot more than saying “I forgive you,” I still believe I’m moving in the right direction.

Even when it doesn’t feel like it.

So no, I don’t have some beautiful lesson wrapped in a bow this week.

I’m just showing up as I am.

Still hurting in places I don’t know how to explain.
Still figuring out what healing looks like for me.
Still learning how to feel safe inside of myself.
Still choosing not to let my past decide what happens next.

And maybe this week, that’s enough.

Maybe showing up while you’re still hurting counts too. 🤍