What I Trust Now

I used to believe healing would arrive as certainty.

That there would be a moment when the body stopped hesitating, when memory loosened its grip, when I could say—without reservation—that it was over.

That moment never came.

What came instead was something quieter: trust without guarantees.

Embrace patience and confidence with the message "Trust the Process" spelled out in wooden tiles over a textured background.

Trust Without Absolutes

I no longer trust timelines.

I no longer trust closure.

I no longer trust narratives that promise completion.

What I trust now is capacity.

The capacity to notice when my body is overwhelmed.

The capacity to pause without justification.

The capacity to choose less rather than more.

This trust is not optimism. It is not belief in a particular outcome. It is a relationship with the present moment that does not demand certainty.

The Body as an Ally

For a long time, my body felt like an adversary—unpredictable, reactive, resistant.

I understand now that it was responding exactly as it had learned to. It was protecting me with the tools it had at the time.

I trust my body now not because it is calm, but because it is honest.

It tells me when something is too much.

It tells me when to step back.

It tells me when staying is possible.

That information is enough.

What Healed, What Didn’t

Some things softened.

Some patterns lost their urgency.

Some reactions no longer control the room.

Other things remain tender.

Healing did not erase memory. It did not make the past irrelevant. It did not turn pain into wisdom.

What it did was return authorship.

I am no longer negotiating my reality with systems that could not protect me. I am no longer required to translate my experience into something palatable.

I decide what stays private.

I decide what is shared.

I decide what pace my life takes.

Living Without Resolution

There is pressure to end stories like this with hope, with reassurance, with an offering.

What I can offer instead is honesty.

Healing does not resolve everything. It makes life livable. It creates room for choice. It allows the present moment to exist without being constantly overrun by the past.

That is not a conclusion.

It is an ongoing practice.

What I Trust Now

I trust my pacing.

I trust my boundaries.

I trust what feels neutral rather than what feels impressive.

I trust that I do not owe anyone proof of recovery.

I trust that safety does not require performance.

I trust that remaining is enough.

This series does not close a chapter. It simply marks authorship.