Coming Home to Myself
May 30, 2025
Healing, for me, hasn't been about becoming someone new — it's been about remembering who I was before the world told me I wasn’t enough.
For most of my life, I thought healing meant becoming better — more confident, more successful, more in control.
But the more I chased “better,” the more disconnected I felt.
I was always reaching for a version of myself that felt just out of reach — one who had finally “arrived,” finally felt worthy, finally made sense to everyone around me.
Until I paused long enough to ask:
What if healing isn’t about chasing some perfect version of myself?
What if it’s about coming home to the one I already am?
The one beneath the masks.
The one I tucked away to survive.
The one who feels deeply, even when it’s inconvenient.
Coming home to myself has looked like:
- Saying no without guilt.
- Crying without apology.
- Laughing too loud.
- Needing people, and letting them know.
- Listening to the soft parts I used to silence.
It hasn’t been tidy. It hasn’t been linear. But it’s been real.
And maybe that’s what makes it feel like home — not that it’s perfect, but that it’s mine.
The world will always try to convince us to perform — to become more palatable, more productive, more “together.”
But the real journey is returning to who we were before we learned to perform at all.
I’m not chasing anymore. I’m remembering. And I’m finally home.