Losing your shit...not just for diapers

There are moments in healing that don’t look the way we expect them to. Moments where you cry harder than you thought you would, like something in you finally cracked open after being held together for too long. Moments where you say something you’ve been carrying for years, and it doesn’t come out perfectly, it comes out real. Moments where anger shows up instead of peace, and it throws you off because you thought healing was supposed to feel calmer than this.

But this is the part no one says out loud—those moments don’t mean you’re doing it wrong. They don’t mean you’re regressing or falling apart. They mean something in you finally feels safe enough to come up.

And sometimes… that doesn’t look okay.

Sometimes it looks messy. Sometimes it looks loud. Sometimes it looks like you reacting in a way other people don’t understand.

And it’s okay if your healing looks “not okay” to someone else. It’s okay if it feels inappropriate to people who only know the version of you that stayed quiet, stayed composed, stayed easy. Soft if you would...

Because healing isn’t about performing wellness for other people.

It’s about telling the truth in your own body.

For a long time, survival might have meant staying small. Not making waves. Not saying the thing. Keeping everything contained so you didn’t have to deal with the reaction, the judgment, or the consequences.

So when you start healing, your voice doesn’t come back filtered.

It comes back honest.

And sometimes that honesty is uncomfortable—not just for you, but for the people around you.

But here’s the thing—you’re allowed to take up space in your healing. You’re allowed to have moments where you don’t hold it all together. You’re allowed to let people see you in it.

You’re allowed to make your people show up for you.

Not because you’re falling apart—but because you’re finally not doing it alone.

What you’re feeling isn’t you losing control. It’s you releasing control that was never meant to carry this much.

It’s your body and your mind realizing you don’t have to survive like that anymore.

Healing isn’t always quiet. It isn’t always graceful. Sometimes it’s raw, emotional, and imperfect.

And none of that makes you broken.

It makes you honest.

You don’t have to rush to fix it. You don’t have to clean it up for other people. You don’t have to make it easier to understand.

You just have to let it be real.

Because intensity doesn’t mean danger. Expression doesn’t mean you’re doing it wrong.

It means you’re finally letting yourself feel.

It Doesn’t Stay Quiet Anymore

I tried to make it look okay—even when it wasn’t.

Swallowed the words,softened the edges,held it all inso no one would have to feel it with me.

I learned how to carry itwithout letting it show.

But healing—healing didn’t come back quiet.

It came back loud.Unfiltered.Honest in a way I couldn’t reshape.

It spilled out in tearsthat didn’t match the moment,in words that didn’t come out perfectly,in feelings that didn’t askif anyone else was comfortable first.

And for a second, I thought—this isn’t okay.

But maybe it is.

Maybe it’s okaythat it looks messy.Maybe it’s okaythat it asks more of people.Maybe it’s okaythat I’m no longer the version of methat made everything easier for everyone else.

Because this—this is what it looks liketo stop carrying it alone.

It doesn’t stay quiet anymore.

And neither do I.