The Road to Healing

Healing isn’t always gentle—it’s a process filled with setbacks, tears, and moments where giving up feels easier than moving forward. I wrote this poem as a reminder to myself and anyone reading this that even when it feels impossible, healing is still happening. Even when it hurts, you’re growing. This poem speaks to the hidden parts of the journey—the parts no one talks about—and the strength it takes to keep going. Trust the process, even if all you can do today is breathe.

The Road to Healing

They say time heals all wounds—

But they never say how long.

They don’t tell you that healing

Feels like bleeding all along.

They don’t mention how the nights

Whisper doubts into your soul,

Or how tears fall without warning,

And joy feels far from whole.

Healing isn’t pretty—

It’s messy, raw, and slow.

It’s screaming into pillows

So no one else will know.

It’s dragging your tired body

Out of bed when you feel numb,

And facing all the silence

When you wish the pain would come.

It’s looking in the mirror

And not liking what you see,

But still choosing to get up

And say, “Today, I’ll still be me.”

It’s forgiving all the versions

Of yourself that couldn’t cope,

And building up from ashes

With a trembling kind of hope.

Sometimes it’s taking one step,

Then falling two steps behind,

But learning in the falling

That healing isn’t kind.

It doesn’t hold your hand tight—

It teaches you to crawl.

And in the crawling, you discover

You can stand up after all.

Some days you’ll feel the sunlight

Breaking through your chest.

Other days, the weight returns

And presses on your breath.

But healing is a rhythm,

Not a straight and perfect line—

It’s the courage to keep dancing

Even when you’re out of time.

It’s laughing for the first time

And meaning every sound.

It’s walking past the old scars

And not needing to look down.

It’s sitting in your sadness

Without letting it define

The worth you’ve held inside you

Through every tear and line.

It’s letting go of anger

That you carried far too long.

It’s writing out your story

In your own healing song.

It’s forgiving those who broke you,

Not because they were right—

But because your peace matters

More than another fight.

It’s learning how to breathe again

When the weight is off your chest,

And knowing pain once lived here

But no longer is a guest.

It’s choosing not to settle

For the comfort of the past,

And walking through new doorways

With a heart that hopes at last.

Healing doesn’t shout loudly—

It hums in softer ways.

It’s in your quiet strength

That grows through darker days.

It’s in your gentle rising

When everything feels wrong,

And in your voice that whispers,

“I’ve been hurting, but I’m strong.”

So if you’re on that journey,

And it feels too hard to bear,

Just know you’re not alone in it—

There’s light beyond despair.

It won’t all make sense today,

And some days you’ll want to quit.

But every breath you take in pain

Is proof you haven’t split.

Because healing is a promise—

Not of never feeling pain,

But of finding yourself after

And dancing in the rain.

It’s the story you will tell one day

Of how you made it through,

Of how you fought to live again—

And healing became you.

If this poem spoke to your heart, let it be a reminder: the pain you’re feeling now isn’t permanent. You’re not broken—you’re rebuilding. Every tear, every step forward, every quiet act of courage matters. You are healing, even on the days it doesn’t feel like it. Trust the process. The version of you that’s waiting on the other side is already proud of how far you’ve come.