There are moments on this journey where I think I’ve made it. Where I feel lighter. More grounded. Close to peace. Maybe even joy.

And then something stirs. Subtle, at first. A flicker of unease, a thought I didn’t expect, a rising tension I thought I’d already worked through.

It’s disorienting — because I’m not in crisis. I’m doing everything “right.” I’ve shown up, I’ve set the boundary, I’ve written the words, I’ve been brave. But still, another wave comes.

It’s frustrating. It can feel cruel. Like some part of life or fate is playing tricks on me — offering presence with one hand, and dragging me back with the other.

But I think I’m beginning to see it differently now.

Maybe it’s not regression. Maybe it’s not failure.

Maybe it’s just… thawing.

Because the closer I get to joy, the safer my nervous system feels. And when I feel safe, old parts of me — parts that have been frozen for decades — start to stir. They rise not to ruin my peace, but to finally have space to speak.

And maybe this is presence. Not the calm surface, but the deep undercurrent. The willingness to feel whatever shows up, without abandoning myself this time.

I’m not going backwards.

I’m just going deeper.