Healing

A few months ago, someone asked me if I was healed yet, referencing the self-work that I have been doing.

My easy and quite simple response: Ummm. No.

Personally, I was insulted by the insensitivity of the question. Healing is no quick walk in a park and no light switch that can be flipped on and off.

The funny thing is, during my therapy session last week, I had a good progress report, yet still ended with my therapist playfully but genuinely giving me additional perspective (and homework). Little did I realize I had a little more roots to dig up.

Fast forward to this week, and I was triggered by a totally separate issue which then led to a panic attack (common for those with anxiety) and here we are - reminded of the very premature question about healing a few months ago.

To be completely transparent, I, along with so many of my friends and cousins, am so desperately trying to break generational traumas and teachings. We all (you included) have them. It all depends on what you plan to do about them. I don’t know about you but I cannot afford to pass them on to another generation. It just wouldn’t be fair because it isn’t fair.

So on the panic attack day this week, in between tears and journaling, I couldn’t help but to think about “at the end of the day.”

At the end of the day (at the end of my journey), I want Harlem to know, and feel, that I love him more than life itself. At the end of the day, I want him to be proud of me for never giving up on him (or myself). That I am his forever advocate.

That I did my very best for him. Always.

That we were always on the same team.

I want him to know just how much I fought to be better and do better for him. Always.

The truth is, healing is a constant motion. It is a constant effort.

A mother’s love. A mother’s prayer. A mother’s healing.