’m healing, but I’m still angry.
And for once, I’m not going to sugarcoat it to make anyone else feel more comfortable with my pain.
I’m not here to play the “strong girl” who forgives too quickly and smiles through a storm. I’ve done that before—performed my grace like a magic trick, waving away betrayal with a shaky hand and a forced smile. But not this time.
This time, I’m sitting with my anger. Not because I want to stay in it forever, but because I finally understand it has something to teach me.
I’m angry because I deserved better. I’m angry because I begged for honesty and was fed silence. I’m angry because I broke my own heart trying to keep the peace. And I’m even angrier that it took me so long to realize I was bleeding for someone who wouldn’t even hand me a bandage.
Some days I wake up proud—I’ve come so far. I’m functioning. I’m laughing. I’m creating new memories. But then, out of nowhere, that anger creeps in like a shadow behind me, whispering, “Remember how they did you? Remember how you ignored your own needs just to prove you were worth loving?”
And I do. I remember it all.
Healing isn’t this clean, straight-line journey. It’s messy. It’s that random Tuesday night cry. It’s replaying conversations and wishing I’d screamed instead of stayed silent. It’s watching them move on so easily while I’m still picking the shards of myself out of places I didn’t even know were wounded.
I’ve learned that healing doesn’t mean pretending I’m over it. It doesn’t mean pretending I don’t care. Healing, real healing, means allowing all of it to surface—especially the parts that make people uncomfortable.
So yeah, I’m healing… but I’m still angry. And maybe that’s okay.
Maybe this rage is the fire that finally burns down everything I was never meant to carry in the first place.
Maybe it’s not a sign that I’m bitter… maybe it’s proof that I’m finally honoring what I feel instead of silencing it for the sake of appearing “healed.”
If you’re reading this and nodding quietly to yourself, just know: you’re not alone. You can be soft and still furious. You can be wise and still wounded. You can be healing… and still pissed off.
And that doesn’t make you broken. That makes you honest.
Let it rise. Let it burn. Let it teach you what you won’t allow next time.
Because next time—you won’t stay quiet.
