I used to think healing would feel obvious — like light pouring in after darkness, or like waking up one day and feeling better. But when it started, healing didn’t feel like that at all. It didn’t feel good. It didn’t feel clear. Most of the time, it didn’t feel like anything.
After trying to stop, after silence returned, I felt numb more than anything. Not peaceful — just blank. I had spent so long running from feelings that I forgot how to sit with them. When they finally came back, I didn’t know what to do with them. I wasn’t crying. I wasn’t smiling. I was just there — still.
Some days I didn’t get out of bed. Some days I forced myself to eat just once. Other days I managed to clean something small — my table, my floor, my inbox. These weren’t big moments, but they felt like effort. Even brushing my hair or replying to a message became a quiet form of showing up.
I wasn’t doing affirmations or tracking progress. I wasn’t calling it self-love. It just looked like survival. A little less noise in my head. A little more breath in my chest. No one was watching. No one knew I was trying. But I was.
That’s what healing looked like for me — not transformation, not clarity, not joy. Just small decisions that didn’t seem like much, but slowly added up.
If you’re in that place too, where nothing feels dramatic or powerful, but you’re still trying — I hope you know that it still counts. You don’t have to glow to be healing. Sometimes just staying soft is the hardest and bravest thing to do.
Biswajit Gogoi 