There’s a strange guilt that comes when things start getting better.

Not because life is perfect, but because for the first time in a long time, I’m not surviving moment to moment. I’ve done the deep work: setting boundaries, walking away from old wounds, reparenting my inner child. I’ve made hard choices—especially around my mother—and I’m learning to stay grounded in my truth, even when it hurts.

But lately I’ve been asking:

What am I still not seeing?
What am I unconsciously holding back?
What might actually help me live—not just heal?

And some things have come up that feel quietly profound.

🌱 1. I’ve Forgotten How to Play

Somewhere along the way, joy started to feel dangerous. Too soon. Too indulgent. Too disloyal.

Skating used to be that outlet for me—a place where movement and freedom met. But I’ve stopped going. Not because I don’t love it, but because the hour-long travel, the intensity, the full-body depletion… it just became too much. And I haven’t found anything to replace it.

But maybe that’s the problem. I’ve framed joy as something that requires energy I don’t have.
What if play didn’t have to be such a big commitment?
What if joy could be small, quiet, local—even silly?

  • Watching diggers.
  • Messing around with a guitar.
  • Drawing with my son.
  • Cooking something new just because it sounds fun.
  • Doing something pointless on purpose.

Maybe joy doesn’t need to be earned. Maybe it’s a signal that I’m safe enough to begin again.

🌑 2. I’ve Confused the Inner Child with the Shadow

The overeating. The guilt. The isolation. I thought it was all coming from my wounded inner child. But lately, I’ve started to see the difference:

  • My inner child is soft, scared, and hopeful.
  • My shadow is sharp, guilty, and controlling.

The child says, “Please see me.”
The shadow says, “Don’t you dare move on without proving your worth.”

Both speak from pain. But they need different kinds of care.

I’m realising that some of my stuckness isn’t just grief — it’s loyalty to the pain. Like if I thrive, I’m betraying the version of me (and of her) who suffered. But that’s not love. That’s entrapment. And it keeps me in hiding.

🔦 3. I’ve Been Protecting Myself from People Who Might Actually Love Me

I’ve worked hard to stop chasing the unavailable. But what about the ones who are available? Am I letting them in?

Part of me still flinches at the idea of being seen — not by people who judge me, but by people who might not. The truth is, some part of me is more comfortable in rejection. I know the script. I know the dance.

But I’m ready to write a new story.
One where being known isn’t dangerous.
One where I don’t have to earn my place.
One where I get to support others, and be supported, too.

🧍 4. I’ve Left My Inner Teenager Out of the Conversation

I’ve been parenting my inner child, and stepping into my adult self. But I’ve forgotten about the teenager — the one who was hungry for truth, for power, for belonging, for rebellion.

He holds my drive. My edge. My fight.
And I think he’s tired of being ignored.

Maybe it’s time to ask him:

“What do you want to say? What do you need? What are you still angry about?”

Because becoming whole means including every version of me — even the ones I tried to outgrow.

🛏️ 5. I Still Expect Myself to Be More “Healed” Than I Am

I know rest helps me. I know I need rhythm, not rush. But I still find myself holding onto the old narrative: “You should be doing more by now.”

The truth is, healing isn’t a race.
If anything, it’s a return to a more natural pace — one my nervous system can actually handle.

Some days, healing is a deep insight.
Other days, it’s just remembering to eat slowly and breathe before I check my phone.

💭 Final Thought

This chapter of my life isn’t about perfection.
It’s about allowing life to return in small, playful, and sometimes uncomfortable ways.

I want to feel joy again—not because I’ve earned it, but because I’m still here.
I want to skate again—not because I should, but because I love it, when it fits.
And I want to meet the parts of me I’ve left waiting—especially the ones still holding hope that life can be good.

And maybe, for once, I can let that hope be right.