Picking Up The Peices

I started therapy again, and with it came this slow, hesitant return to journaling. Not the kind we did in grade school, where our biggest crisis was who sat woth who at lunch.

This time its different.

This time, its deliberate.

This is me trying to meet myself where I’ve been avoiding myself.

Journaling is still foreign.

Therapy still feels like learning a language that I should have grown up speaking.

But im doing it anways — for me, for the people I love, and for ther version of myself who survived things she never should’ve had to.

And somewhere in the middle of writing half-sentences and circling around truths that I’m not ready to say out loud, I realized something…

“The only way out, is to circle back to pick up the peices that life took from me along the way….”

Not to relive the pain.

Not to stay stuck in the past.

But because those peices are mine.

They belong to the woman I am becoming.

And I don’t feel I can move forward without gathering what was taken, dropped, and shattered.

It’s my turn now to take control, to keep pushing — even if it means picking up the pieces I left behind to survive.