Or, how getting my shit together started with unlearning everything the internet romanticized about pain.

Therapy changed my life. Not in the grand, cinematic epiphany kind of way—but slowly, quietly, and with a lot of uncomfortable truths. I got lucky: my therapist is someone I can actually talk to. She doesn’t hand me answers. She lets me wander through the mess of my thoughts until I arrive at something that feels true. That kind of space, that kind of patience, changed me.

I also know that not everyone has the privilege of access to therapy. It’s expensive. It’s inaccessible for many. So I’m sharing some of the biggest, hardest-earned lessons I’ve picked up through my own therapy journey—for anyone who might need them.

Love doesn’t just happen

Love is not a feeling that magically fixes things.

Love is faith, a verb, a conversation.

And for a relationship rooted in love to thrive, love must exist in all three forms.

You need faith in the person you love—that they will treat you with care, that they will show up. That faith comes from consistent, aligned actions. And those actions are shaped by conversations: the ones where you talk about what matters, where you ask, listen, and understand.

Love cannot thrive without faith. And even the greatest faith can diminish when there is silence and inaction.

And here’s the part we don’t hear enough: this doesn’t just apply to romantic relationships. This applies most critically to your relationship with yourself.

Many times when we think of love and relationships we think of our relationships with other people, oftentimes forgetting that our relationship with yourself determines what kind of relationship we have with other people.

And one of the very hard-won lessons and hard-fought realisations I had was that if I loved myself the way I should be loved, I would’t have settled for anything less from everyone else.

Seeking closure may be more detrimental than helpful to your healing process

At least, in the form that most people think closure takes.

Think about it: what does closure usually mean for most people? What is the idea of closure that you have in your head?

Closure, the way we talk about it, is often just another person validating our pain. We want them to acknowledge what they did. Say they’re sorry. Give us a reason. Make us feel seen.

But what if they never do?

In therapy, I had to face this: you can’t expecting someone who hurt you to help you heal.

You can heal without them. You have to be able to.

Because the truth is, they might never admit fault. They might not be capable of it.

Healing is your responsibility to yourself.

I learned to build closure within myself. To grieve, to release, to stitch myself back together without waiting for someone else to offer the thread.

Remember that you are not a thing — you are capable of putting yourself back together.

I know it’s easier said than done, but the earlier you accept that, the faster you can try to move forward to healing yourself.

The only person you have to forgive is you

Everyone else can just go fuck themselves.

And no, I’m not being harsh.

I spent a year in therapy consumed by anger. At them. At the situation. But mostly, if I’m being honest, at me.

I thought forgiveness meant I had to absolve them. But my body refused. I couldn’t pretend to forgive someone who had done nothing to deserve it.

And then my therapist asked me: Why do you think you have to forgive them?

Why, indeed.

I realised I don’t have to forgive them. I don’t need that to move on. But I do need to forgive myself.

Because in my healing process, what I think about myself is more important. My anger at another person is irrelevant. My anger with myself is what’s holding me back. My anger with myself prevents me from fully loving myself, and therefore snowballs into my relationship with others.

So, yeah. Forgive and forget don’t need to go hand in hand.

Your feelings are valid, but it doesn’t mean they’re always right

This one was hard. I spent so long thinking that if I felt something deeply, it had to mean something profound.

But here’s the truth: feelings are valid. They’re real. But they aren’t facts. They don’t always reflect reality. And they don’t always require action.

I am allowed to feel sad, jealous, angry, or afraid. But that doesn’t mean the world owes me accommodation. That doesn’t mean my feelings are more important than everyone else’s.

We don’t live in a silo. We are part of a community. And one of the kindest, hardest things we can do is learn to feel fully, but act wisely.

One of the things I struggled with during therapy is identifying and acknowledging my feelings, and then learning to let it go. Because we don’t always have to do anything about our feelings more than feel. And oftentimes, it’s better that way.

PS: It’s been years since my last post. I’ve only been recently inspired to start writing again. I hope you’re all still with me in this journey.

in transit, intentionally,

Thoughts?