The Pieces We Gather
by Maya S.
Healing, I’ve learned, isn’t about becoming whole again, it’s about learning to hold the broken pieces with love. I spent years searching for the person I was before, as if she were a lost key I could recover. But that version of me isn’t coming back. And maybe, that’s okay.
Now, I gather the pieces of who I am today, stitching them together with kindness. A morning spent in sunlight. A deep breath in a moment of panic. A conversation where I finally say what I mean. These are the small victories I collect, proof that I am still here, still becoming. Still enough.
The Kindness of Strangers
by Luis M.
I was sittin alone in a coffee shop, staring at my hands, feeling like the walls were closing in. I don’t know what gave me away. Maybe the tightness in my shoulders, the way I was gripping my cup like a lifeline but an older woman at the next table caught my eye and smiled.
“Rough day?” she asked.
I nodded, not trusting, but she didn’t press. She just sat there, stirring her tea, existing beside me. And somehow, that was enough. I left before she did, but as I stood to go, she said, “youll be okay.”
She will never know how much I needed to hear that. Sometimes, healing starts with the smallest acts of kindness from people who may never know what they’ve done.
Learning to hold my own hand
by Elise R.
For years, I waited for someone to save me. To see me struggling, to reach out, to pull me from the wreckage. But healing doesn’t work like that. No one can climb into my mind and rewrite the stories I tell myself. No one can give me permission to rest, to forgive, to grow. I have to do that.
So, I’m learning to hold my own hand. To sit with myself in the dark and say, “I see you. I’ve got you.” Because at the end of the day, healing isn’t about being rescued, it’s about realizing I was never alone to begin with.
Storms Don't Last Forever
by Ava T.
It rained the night I thought I wouldn’t make it.
Thunder rattled the walls, and I curled into myself, convinced the storm would swallow me whole. But then, morning came. The world was still wet, but the sky had softened, streaked with gold. I stepped outside and let the wind wrap around me. And for the first time in a long time, I thought maybe I’ll be okay.
Because storms don’t last forever. And neither does the pain.
First Time I Felt Safe
by Daniel K.
I spent years mistaking silence for safety. If I stayed small enough, quiet enough, maybe nothing would hurt me. But safety isn’t the absence of harm because it’s the presence of something steady, something real.
The first time I felt safe, truly safe, was in a friend’s kitchen. She handed me a cup of tea, no expectations, no need for conversation. Just warmth in my hands, the soft hum of music in the background. I didn’t have to explain myself. I could just be.
And maybe healing starts there. not in fixing, but in finding places where we don’t have to hide.