I took three weeks off. To heal. To refresh, to rest, to create, to reassess, to have fun. To be. In my last few days of this break, I find myself wondering which one of these things it is I should be doing most. Spend the time alone? Meditate? Grab a drink with friends? Try to summarize my healing and where I am in my 34^th year? Prep for my new job? Finish those projects I partially began?

Go in. Listen. What is it you want to do? What feels best right in this moment?

I learned these questions early in my most recent bout of therapy. Therapy. With B. In her office and space of healing. Where I have visited nearly every week since October 2014.

What does it mean to heal? How do I know when I’m ready to move on? I will not achieve healing. This I now know. But maybe I have learned how to create a life of healing.

I’ve learned about myself. I’ve sat with some of my toughest emotions and memories. I’ve had the mirror held up to me and angled into the darkest corners of my existence. I’ve tapped into these dark corners, had the bottom drop out, and tapped in again. I’ve vomited, scratched, dug, drank, shattered, painted, and written it out. Burned the words released from decades within, and then painted again. I’ve cried. I’ve finally cried. I’ve talked, breathed, meditated, yoga’d, and reiki’d it out. And while there are pieces of the darkness that will be a part of me always, they are now bits of dust in the universe, dissipated and shared with their rightful owner(s). So that maybe a pebble or even a boulder hits now and then, but the pieces are, nonetheless, manageable.

I’ve learned that sometimes logic cannot defy the deep knowing of our insides, and that we need others to help us get to the point of trusting ourselves. I’ve thrashed and yelled no to my husband, a man whom I had to learn was not the monster of my past. I’ve leaned in to friends who I now understand are family. People who I didn’t know I could trust so deeply and who could care about me in a way that was true. People who I know won’t hurt me and who are there for the good times and the bad. I’ve trusted a healer to sit with me as I pieced together the puzzle and connected the dots that my body, mind, and spirit wouldn’t allow me. I’ve accepted how I’ve saved myself from myself – through denial, alternative narratives, rose-colored glasses, achievements, and a plethora of dissociations. I’ve learned how to take care of myself and ease into a practice of self-compassion.

No, healing is not a thing that I achieve. It is a lifelong practice. It is holding up the mirror, sharing the darkness, trusting my inner knowing, leaning into those who are true, and connecting the dots of the past to be able to function in the present. Healing is accepting how the past has led to the woman I am today; it is trusting that I have it within me to carry this woman beyond her 34^th year. Healing is trusting the waves of pain and even joy, and knowing that they will settle into a mellow contented sea.

So what will I do with these last days? What is the perfect way to spend this time? I will do all of it. Or some of it. Or none of it. Flow, as I was meant to flow. Write these words. Meditate on them. Cry. Then spend an evening with family and friends at ArtWalk. I’ll have a few beers, and by the end of the night, I’ll smile silly as I fall into bed in the same room as my husband and two beloved dogs. I’ll know that tomorrow may be good or it may be bad, it may have pebbles or boulders or waves. But whatever it is, I can handle it, and soon it will again be dust and contented seas.

I can live my life now. It’s ok. I don’t have to connect every single dot at every single juncture. After years of digging deep into some of the hardest moments of my past, I am ready to soak in this moment. Be here now. And live this practice of healing with all that I have gathered along the way.