Successful Integration

By the time you notice the difference, it has already settled in.

At first it is small. A pause where a response used to come quickly. A familiar weight that no longer sits where you expect it to. You assume it’s fatigue. Everyone does.

You tell yourself you’ll adjust.

Someone assures you that nothing is wrong. They say it kindly, with the confidence of someone who has seen this before. They remind you that change often feels uncomfortable at the beginning, and that discomfort is not the same thing as damage.

You nod. It sounds reasonable.

Days pass. Or maybe weeks. Time behaves oddly when you stop measuring it against what came before. You try not to compare. Comparison only makes it louder.

When you mention that it feels different, they smile. Different does not mean worse, they say. Different means responsive. Different means updated.

You wonder, briefly, when you agreed to this.

The thought drifts away before it can finish forming.

Sometimes you reach for something out of habit and find your hand closing around air. Other times, something answers back when you didn’t expect it to. Both are explained as progress.

They tell you the feeling of absence is temporary. They do not explain why it feels so specific.

You start to notice how carefully everyone avoids naming what used to be there.

Eventually, you stop asking.

Not because you are satisfied, but because the questions no longer seem to fit. They feel inappropriate. Old-fashioned. Like using the wrong word in a language that has quietly moved on.

One morning, you realise you haven’t thought about it in hours.

This is considered a success.

You begin correcting yourself before anyone else has to.

You stop reaching. You stop checking. You stop finishing sentences that no longer seem to apply.

When someone asks if you’re adjusting well, you say yes without thinking.

The word feels practiced.

That night, you try to remember why you hesitated at the beginning. The reason slips away, leaving only the shape of concern behind.

You sleep anyway.

Later, someone mentions that you seem lighter.

You agree, because it’s easier than explaining the difference between lightness and loss.

They seem pleased with your response.

That night, you dream of something returning, but you wake before you can see what it is.

The relief you feel surprises you.

Eventually, you realise you are no longer waiting for anything to return.