Real talk, healing is lonely.
It's me sitting in my SUV in a parking lot, crying and trying to convince myself I'm okay. It's me sleeping in my SUV to save money and telling myself “this is fine,” even when it's freezing or hot. It's wanting to reach out to someone, but not wanting to burden them or be misunderstood.
I don't miss him. I miss being held. I miss feeling like I was someone's safe place, even if that “home” hurt and tortured me more than it ever healed me. That's the part no one talks about. How I can know someone broke me and still ache for the version of love I hoped it could be. How my body can still crave the person who caused the trauma in the first place. How my mind says “walk away,” but my nervous system whispers, “please don't leave me alone again.”
The truth is, trauma bonds don't break just because you leave. They break slowly, through tears, through shaking hands, through sleepless nights, through choosing myself over and over again, even when every cell in my body wants to run back to what hurt me.
People say, “You look lighter,” or “You're so strong.” And maybe I do. But inside, I'm still fighting memories, triggers, loneliness, and a body that remembers not being chosen.
I'm not posting this for advice, and not for sympathy. I'm posting it because this is real.
People think the hardest part is leaving. It's not. The hardest part is staying gone. It's sitting in the quiet after the chaos and realizing the only person holding me now is me. It's missing the person who hurt me just because they were also the one who was there. It's lonely, it's confusing, and it's real. But it's also the beginning of choosing myself.
Sometimes I hate how my mind drifts back to the past, not because I don't want it, but because a piece of me still lives there, the version of me who just wanted to be loved, the one who believed it would get better if I just stayed.
Yes, I'm lonely, but I'm also free. And maybe this loneliness is just the space between who I was and who I'm becoming.
Healing is weird. I don't miss the pain, but I think my body misses the chaos, the distraction, the touch. I miss being held. I miss belonging to someone. I miss not feeling alone. But I'd still rather be alone than lose myself again.
I am healing. It's not pretty and it's not easy, but it's real. I'm proud of myself for not giving up.
