I used to think healing was simple. You hit a low, you pick yourself up, and you keep going—step by step, like climbing a staircase. That’s how TikTok and every self-help book made it sound: do the work, and things get better.

But healing isn’t a straight line. It’s not always forward. Sometimes it feels like crashing on the couch and not knowing where to go next. It’s confusing, messy, frustrating—and lately, I’ve been stuck in that exact loop.

One week, I feel unstoppable, like I’ve turned the page and left everything behind. The next? I’m right back in my head, replaying old mistakes, picking at wounds I swore were already closed. It’s exhausting to feel like you’ve made progress, only to circle right back to the beginning. To fall into old patterns. To question everything—every decision, every moment.

And honestly? No one really prepares you for that part.

We love the glow-up stories. The “look how far I’ve come” Instagram captions. The filtered, glossy versions of healing. But where are the stories about crying over something you thought you were over? About comparing yourself to people who seem like they’ve got it all figured out, while you’re still just… trying?

I think something that’s rarely talked about is friendship breakups—and what they actually do to us. It’s the worst type of breakup. I can’t say I’m feeling it right now, but I have. And honestly? We all do at some point.

It’s something that still lingers, something that still bothers me sometimes. I can fully say I’ve never completely forgiven myself. But I’ve started to forgive myself slowly—even if it wasn’t entirely my fault—for allowing myself to enter a new chapter of life that I’ll love forever.

So many beautiful things came out of this healing journey we all know too well. One of them being the most cherished friendship I’ve ever had, one I’ll be eternally grateful for. Isn’t it wild how someone can come into your life at exactly the right time and show you what real friendship feels like?

I won’t name names, but the person I became close to during that time truly saved me. She showed me what true, honest, vulnerable friendship looks like. I’ll hold her near and dear to my heart forever.

Still, there are moments where I look back. For me, it’s that one friendship I let go of during my junior year of high school. I try to convince myself I’ve moved on, especially when I make new connections. But then I catch myself putting up walls—afraid of saying the wrong thing. Afraid of being too much. And suddenly, I realize… maybe I’m not as healed as I thought I was.

This time of year always brings those memories back. Maybe because it’s when everything happened. I remember sitting quietly while my mom spoke to my ex-friend. I had to act like nothing was wrong, like I didn’t lose someone I deeply cared about.

What really stuck with me was how much I blamed myself. I picked apart every word, every look, every moment I could’ve handled differently. For a long time, I believed I was the reason it all fell apart.

But if healing has taught me anything, it’s this: I wasn’t 100% at fault—and it’s okay to say that out loud. Yes, I made mistakes. But I don’t have to rewrite the story and paint her as a saint just to make sense of it all. We were both flawed. We both contributed to the end. And no—I didn’t deserve to carry all the guilt alone.

At one point, I thought being surrounded by the “right” people would fix it all. That if I just had the dream support system, I’d forget the pain. But healing doesn’t work like that. You can be surrounded by love and still feel broken in certain parts.

Being in a good place but not feeling whole? That’s normal. None of it mattered until I looked inside and realized it wasn’t all on me. I misunderstood that for a long time.

There was a while when I felt weak for still caring. For still being hurt. For not moving on “fast enough.” But healing isn’t about speed—it’s about honesty and grace. And I’ve had to learn to give that to myself.

I remember how much compassion I gave to her—the way I waited months for her to decide if our friendship was worth saving. I was given one hour. That has stayed with me. It reminded me that not everyone can match the vulnerability and love you give. That doesn’t mean I (or you) are unworthy.

It just means you learn. You grow. And you eventually start giving that same compassion back to yourself.

So if you’re in the thick of it—if you’re sitting in that messy middle of healing, tired of feeling like you’re falling behind—please know this:

You’re not alone. I’m right there with you. Still grieving. Still learning. Still healing.

Because healing is never linear.
But it is healing.
Always and forever.

“The drought was the very worst / When the flowers that we’d grown together died of thirst.”
—Taylor Swift, “Clean”