So Apparently Healing Isn't a Glow-Up (It's an Exorcism)

I used to think healing was going to turn me into the kind of girl who wakes up early to stretch, journal, and whisper affirmations into her chamomile tea like she’s got her life together.

Spoiler alert: I mostly just whisper “please don’t let me lose it today” into my coffee while River side-eyes me from across the room.

I thought healing meant finally feeling light — like all the pain would wash off one morning in the shower and I’d step out glowing and grateful, posting sunrise photos with captions like “the comeback is always stronger than the setback.”

Yeah. No.

Turns out “healing” is basically a never-ending group project with all your past versions, and you’re the only one showing up to the meetings.

🩹 The Fantasy Version

I really thought it would look like this:

1. Daily meditations that make me feel zen and not zoned out.
2. Gratitude journals instead of 3 a.m. meltdown notes in my phone.
3. A perfectly curated crystal shelf that channels peace instead of husky hair.
4. People understanding me without needing a PowerPoint presentation.
5. Having boundaries and being chill about them (LOL).
6. Feeling connected to the moon without sobbing during every full one.

Basically, I thought healing would make me… ethereal. Effortless. The spiritual lovechild of Stevie Nicks and a Pinterest board.

💀 The Reality

Healing, as it turns out, looks more like this:

1. Crying on the kitchen floor because you realized growth means no longer fitting into your old life.
2. Saying “no” and then instantly wondering if you’re a terrible person.
3. Loving people from a distance and hating how quiet it gets.
4. Missing the chaos because peace feels boring.
5. Cleaning your altar while mentally arguing with your shadow self.
6. Realizing forgiveness doesn’t come with an instruction manual.

Sometimes healing looks like blocking someone mid-panic attack.

Sometimes it’s making dinner while ugly crying to a playlist called “Healing But Make It Dramatic.”

Sometimes it’s literally not drinking when every part of you screams for escape — and then sitting with that ache until it softens.

I used to think healing would make me soft and sweet.

But the truth? It made me real. It made me honest.

It made me the kind of person who says,

“I still cry. I still screw up. I still talk to the moon like she’s my therapist — but I don’t run from myself anymore.”

🔮 The Alchemy

What I didn’t realize is that healing isn’t a makeover — it’s a metamorphosis.

You don’t wake up one day “healed.” You just wake up and realize that, somehow, you didn’t give up.

You still got out of bed. You still chose to try again. You still lit the candle instead of the fuse.

I used to think magick was about changing my life.

Now I know it’s about staying when the spell wears off.

The real witchcraft is choosing yourself again and again — even on the days it feels pointless, even when no one claps for it.

Healing taught me that peace isn’t a vibe; it’s a muscle.

You have to build it.

You have to keep showing up for it.

You have to sit through the awkward silence of your own becoming and say,

“Okay. I guess this is what wholeness feels like — kinda weird, kinda lonely, kinda miraculous.”

🌷 The Truth

Healing didn’t just save me from myself.

It introduced me to all the parts of me that I used to abandon.

It’s not glamorous.

It’s not always poetic.

But it’s mine.

So if you’re somewhere in the messy middle — crying, laughing, deleting, meditating, cussing, forgiving, repeating — just know:

You’re not behind. You’re becoming.

What I thought healing would look like?

✨ Pretty much anything but this.

What it actually is?

🕯️ Real. Raw. Uncomfortable.

And 'holy' in all the ways that matter.