I think part of me believed that if I learned enough… understood enough… healed enough… there would eventually be a moment where life handed me a little gold star and said:
Congratulations. You are now fully healed. Please proceed directly to happily ever after.
Apparently, that is not how this works.
Honestly feels a little rude after all this effort.
Lately, I’ve been noticing a shift in myself. Not dramatic enlightenment. No glowing aura. No choir of angels descending from the ceiling fan. Just… quieter.
Less replaying conversations in my head.
Less urgency.
Less feeling like every second of every day needs to be productive or meaningful.
That last one has been strangely uncomfortable.
I realized recently that I have spent years feeling like if I wasn’t actively doing something, fixing something, helping someone, thinking about something, or preparing for something… then I must be failing at life a little.
Even rest had requirements.
If I wasn’t working, maybe I should be meditating.
If I wasn’t meditating, maybe I should be writing.
If I wasn’t writing, maybe I should be helping someone.
If I was watching TV, clearly, I should at least be analyzing the deeper meaning of the plotline.
Apparently, my brain runs on curiosity without a job.
Which explains a lot.
The strange thing is, I’ve started saying no to some of those thoughts.
Not angrily.
Not dramatically.
Just quietly.
“Nope. Not following that one today.”
And somehow… the world keeps spinning.
The house still stands.
The bills still exist.
The cat still gives me judgmental looks from his heated perch.
The laundry remains deeply committed to reproducing itself.
Nothing collapsed because I rested.
That has been both comforting and deeply suspicious.
I think part of what makes this phase feel so odd is that life itself hasn’t magically become easier.
The Victorian still needs paint.
My back still likes to remind me I am no longer twenty-five.
We are spending entirely too much money on prom because apparently raising teenagers requires taking out a second mortgage for snacks, shoes, and formalwear.
And yet…
Something inside me is softer.
Not fixed.
Not finished.
Just… less at war with myself.
Scott and I talk sometimes about eventually downsizing. A smaller house. Less upkeep. More riding. More freedom.
A younger version of me probably would’ve immediately turned that into a five-year plan with spreadsheets, timelines, and stress-induced muscle tension.
Now it feels more like a quiet dream sitting off in the distance.
Not something I have to force into existence tomorrow.
Just something gently waiting.
I still catch myself wanting the finish line though.
I still have moments where I think:
“Okay, I see the patterns now. Can we wrap this healing thing up?”
But maybe life doesn’t really work that way.
Maybe peace doesn’t arrive all at once like a movie ending.
Maybe it arrives in smaller moments:
Sitting on the porch with coffee.
A motorcycle ride where the wind clears your head.
Laughing over the question of how someone manages to back into a giant yellow school bus.
Realizing you can take an afternoon off without guilt swallowing you whole.
Maybe healing isn’t becoming a completely different person.
Maybe it’s simply no longer fighting yourself every minute of the day.
And honestly?
That sounds a lot more peaceful than happily ever after.
Your turn to stir the tea