Change used to terrify me. Still kind of does. But in that way where you’re scared and excited and maybe slightly constipated because your whole body is like, “Wait… we’re doing something different?”
Remember how I said I started watching scary movies? Okay, more like surviving them while hiding behind a cushion and yelling “NOPE” at every bad decision a character makes. But there’s a point here: the only reason I can scream “DON’T OPEN THAT DOOR” with confidence is because I’ve seen what happens next.
Experience. Bad experience, but still experience.
That’s the beautiful curse of healing – it makes you too self-aware. I now know why I self-sabotaged, why I chased unavailable people, why I held onto pain like it was a damn souvenir. But knowing isn’t healing. Doing is. So I started doing. One uncomfortable step at a time. I started saying no to things that drained me. I started trusting myself – not fully, but enough. Enough to say, “You’ve made awful choices in the past, but hey, you’re still here.”
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