By Taylor Evans 
I used to think healing meant always feeling better. That if I did enough—read the right books, prayed the right prayers, exercised, journaled, meditated—I’d wake up one morning and finally feel whole. I chased “better” like it was some finish line I could sprint toward if I just pushed a little harder.
But that version of healing? It’s a lie.
The truth is, healing is messy. It’s confusing. It’s waking up one morning feeling like you can breathe again, and the next morning feeling like you’re drowning in thoughts you can’t explain. It’s taking a few steps forward, then stumbling back and wondering if you’ve made any progress at all.
I don’t talk about it much out loud, but mental illness has been part of my story for a long time. Depression, anxiety, trauma—they don’t wear name tags, but they move in and make themselves comfortable. Sometimes they’re loud, and sometimes they’re quiet. But they’re always there, sitting in the back of the room like uninvited guests.
There were days I hid it well. I smiled, laughed, posted filtered photos and said “I’m fine” when I wasn’t. I got good at pretending. At surviving. At showing up for everyone else while completely abandoning myself.
But that gets exhausting. You can only hold your breath for so long before something breaks.
I didn’t have one big moment where everything changed. No rock bottom, no lightning bolt. Just a slow unraveling—a soft realization that I didn’t want to keep living in survival mode. I wanted more. I deserved more.
So I started small.
I learned to ask for help without guilt. I started therapy. I set boundaries that felt uncomfortable but necessary. I began talking to myself the way I’d talk to someone I love. I chose rest over hustle. Honesty over hiding. Grace over guilt.
And slowly, things began to shift.
Not in big, dramatic ways. But in the quiet moments. Like the way my chest didn’t feel so heavy in the mornings. The way I stopped apologizing for needing space. The way I started saying “no” without feeling selfish. The way I began to believe that maybe—just maybe—I wasn’t broken after all.
Some days I thrive. I check things off my to-do list, go outside, drink water, laugh with friends, feel alive. And some days, I survive. I lie in bed and cry for no clear reason. I cancel plans. I feel everything too much. And that’s okay too.
Healing isn’t about being happy all the time. It’s about learning to sit with yourself on the hard days without shame. It’s knowing that you’re allowed to take up space, even when you feel like a burden. It’s learning that softness is strength, and vulnerability is brave.
I don’t have it all figured out. I still have bad days. I still overthink. I still catch myself falling back into old patterns. But I’m trying. And honestly? That matters.
If you’re in a hard season right now, I just want to tell you this: you are not weak for struggling. You are not broken for feeling too much. You don’t have to earn your worth by being perfect. You are allowed to rest. You are allowed to ask for help. You are allowed to just be.
You don’t have to bloom every day. Some days, just breathing is enough.
And that’s more than okay.
by Shelby Spear 
by Bridgette Ross 
