"It happened so long ago — surely it can’t still be affecting me now."

I have told myself this many times. I have heard it from others even more.

I have heard it from others even more.

Why dig it up?
Why not move on?
Why stir the past?

The truth is — trauma doesn’t keep to a timeline.
It doesn’t fade with age.

What is buried, unspoken, unprocessed — stays.
It seeps into the corners of life you least expect.
It shapes your sense of self.
Your relationships.
Your trust.

And it stays until it is met with truth.

For so many years, I thought healing meant moving on.
Moving forward. Leaving it behind. Getting on with life.

That’s what I was taught.
That’s what I told myself.

But the truth is: healing is not linear.

It’s not a straight line from pain to peace.
It’s not a story with a clean beginning, middle and end.

It’s more like the tide — sometimes moving me forward,sometimes pulling me under.
Some days light. Some days unbearable.

And that’s okay.

When I first began to speak my truth, part of me believed: Nowthat I’ve said it, it will get easier.

In some ways, it did.
But in many ways — that moment was just the beginning.

As truth rose to the surface, so did old wounds.
As shame began to dissolve, so did the layers of protection I had worn foryears.

Grief rose up.
So did anger.
So did compassion.
And, surprisingly — love.

Decades on, my story is still unfolding.

The pain is still being voiced.
Memories are still being shared.
Armour is still being let go of.

This weight — this pain — this hurt was buried deep in myheart, mind and body for so long.

My life — my path — unfolded from past experiences I neverasked for.

My career.
My friendships.
My relationships with myself and others — all shaped by what I carried, oftenin silence.

For years, this was not something we spoke about — notbetween us as sisters, not within the wider family.

It sat beneath the surface — shaping us in ways no one daredname.

And in many ways, it still does.
Healing is not a switch that flips — it is slow, layered, ongoing.

This is the truth: my healing has been, and often still is,a lonely path.

There are moments of connection, yes.
But much of this work I do alone.

Learning to sit with my own story.
Learning to trust my own voice.
Learning that even without anyone else’s understanding, I am still allowed toheal.

I know many others walk this kind of path too.

But here is what I’ve come to understand:
Being alone in healing does not mean you are failing.

It means you are facing the hardest truths with courage.

That is strength — even when it doesn’t feel like it.

There is one more thing I hold close:

Do not lose your life to this.
Do not let this pain take more than it already has.

It will ask for all of you if you let it.
But you deserve to still live.
You deserve joy and happiness.
You deserve moments of peace and laughter and light — even in the middle of thehard days.

Do not wait for perfect healing to begin living.
We cannot get those years back.

Live your life now — even if it is one small moment at atime.

That is its own form of healing too.

I am the lighthouse.
Sometimes standing alone in the dark — still choosing to shine.
And still choosing to live.

‍