Healing, Glowing, and Growing – One Act of Self-Care At a Time

The build-up of the past weeks—months, even—finally caught up to me. I tried to keep moving forward, trying to process, trying to work through everything I’ve been holding. But it was too much. Too fast.

The last few weeks, I’ve been trying to just be present with myself. To sit with the anger that rises like fire in my chest, hot and sharp, threatening to burn through everything. To feel the grief for the years I’ve lost, the milestones I’ll never get back, the parts of myself that never had space to exist. But it hasn’t been neat or linear.

Anger is loud. And yet, I keep shutting it down, because the cost is unbearable. My stomach twists into knots until I can’t keep anything down. My head pounds with tension so thick it feels like it’s pressing my skull inward. My shoulders, back, and pelvis lock into rigid shapes, my muscles screaming for release I can’t give them. The nausea, the vomiting, the relentless pain—it’s a viscous cycle I can’t escape. And then the rage comes again, clawing its way up from somewhere deep, and I try to sit with it, to just feel, and my body reminds me: you are not separate from this. Every emotion pulses through every nerve, every muscle, every organ.

I remind myself: I am allowed to feel everything I feel without shame or judgment.

And then there’s my mind. My inner critic has been relentless lately, sharp as broken glass. It punctuates every attempt to breathe through the discomfort with reminders: you should have kept going. You shouldn’t have slowed down. You failed. Sometimes it finds me in the quiet of the night, whispering that the very act of pausing, of simply existing in the midst of all this intensity, is proof that I’m weak.

I counter it silently: My inner critic’s voice does not define me; I choose to listen with compassion.

And yet, these harsh, persistent words live alongside another truth. I was moving forward. I have been taking steps that I am proud of. I’ve confronted grief I’ve carried for years. I’ve tried, again and again, to feel the anger I learned to suppress. I’ve noticed my body and its signals, even when they were painful or frightening. That is not nothing. That is not failure. That is courage. That is showing up to myself.

I say to myself: I am proud of myself for showing up, even when it hurts.

But the tension between progress and perceived failure is suffocating at times. There have been moments when I’ve felt like I collapsed under the weight of my own expectations, like the steps I took forward were immediately erased by this “setback.” I’ve curled up on my bed, head in hands, convinced that I’ve undone months of effort simply because my body and nervous system are refusing to cooperate.

I breathe and remind myself: Feeling anger and grief does not make me weak—it makes me human.

Still, even in those moments, there is pride. There is awareness that I am not giving up. That despite the nausea, the vomiting, the headaches, the pelvic and shoulder pain, I am still here. Still witnessing myself. Still trying. Still allowing the cycle to exist without judgment, even when my inner critic yells louder than I want to hear.

Some days, I sit with my anger and it feels like molten lava in my chest, my stomach churning, my shoulders tight, my back screaming. I feel waves of grief wash over me, so heavy that it presses me into the floor, makes every movement feel monumental. And yet, even as the body trembles, I bring myself back to the simple truth:

I whisper to myself: Each breath I take is a reminder that I am safe to feel and to be.

And: I honor the steps I’ve taken, even when progress feels messy.

This is my current truth. Not polished, not resolved, not “healed.” Just me, raw and exposed, facing the anger, facing the grief, facing the critic, and allowing all of it to live in me—even when it hurts beyond words.

Closing Affirmations:

• I am allowed to feel everything I feel without shame or judgment.
• My body’s responses are valid signals, not obstacles.
• Feeling anger and grief does not make me weak—it makes me human.
• I honor the steps I’ve taken, even when progress feels messy.
• I am present with myself, exactly as I am, in this moment.
• My inner critic’s voice does not define me; I choose to listen with compassion.
• Each breath I take is a reminder that I am safe to feel and to be.
• I am proud of myself for showing up, even when it hurts.
• Healing is not about perfection; it is about presence, courage, and self-compassion.