Holding Both/And: The Sacred and Expansive Journey of Healing

Dear Reader: 

If you're circling back to a wound you thought you'd outgrown…If you're feeling emotions you thought were long forgotten…If you're doing everything right and still feeling unsteady...

Let this be a pause — a place to land, breathe, and remember:Your healing and transformation is not a “one and done”. 

Healing rarely looks the way we think it will. It doesn’t unfold in tidy timelines or finish lines. It unfolds in waves, in spirals, in moments when our hearts crack open again — not because we’ve regressed, but because we’re ready to see more, feel more, hold more.

This piece is not a prescription. It’s an offering.We’ll explore what it means to carry both grief and seek joy, to hold the ache and reach for a good life.We’ll talk about therapy, trauma, and the tender truth that showing up is a brave, courageous and active choice.And more than anything, we’ll remind ourselves: this is sacred work, and you are not alone in it.  Let’s normalize building a community where depth and authenticity are welcome and holding space for complexity is real. 

Healing isn’t Linear

Healing, we’re often told, is a destination. And some will even question “aren’t you over that yet?”

We’re expected to follow a step-by-step protocol. Wait it out with time with the expectation that it will dissipate.  We are told that forward motion is the normal trajectory. We’re expected to fix or forget the rupture and move on.

But those of us who’ve lived through heartbreak, betrayal, loss, or trauma know better. Healing doesn’t unfold in a straight line — it spirals. The event may be long behind us, but the impact lingers indefinitely. And the truth is… the impact may never disappear.  But perhaps, you will learn how to embrace and manage it.

You might feel whole one day and unsteady the next. You might be years removed from the event, only to feel a memory surface with breathtaking clarity.  Your remembrances may be able to expand with gratitude instead of anger. 

That’s not regression. It’s a return. A revealing. A reminder. We experience intervals, depth and levels that occur at times when we least expect.

Trauma lives in the body. In the nervous system. In the patterns we’ve developed to stay safe. It is the impact of the event, not the event itself. Time may pass, but time alone isn’t what heals. Healing is an act of intention, not an accident of aging or the passage of time.

And even with all the insight, therapy, and tools in the world…Pain can still echo.Grief can still surprise.A trigger can still send you spiraling.

It doesn’t mean you’re broken. It means you’re human.And you’re doing the real work — one layer at a time.

Grief and Joy: A Sacred “Both/And”

One of the deepest truths of healing is this:

You don’t have to choose.  You don’t have to ignore.  You don’t have to run away.  You can hold what hurts — and pursue what heals.  In fact, it is your responsibility to do so.  If you want to experience joy or see beauty, you will need to actively cultivate it.  We can sometimes get comfortable with grief and sadness.  They become familiar, like a companion. 

We carry grief, betrayal, disappointment — sometimes all at once.But we don’t stop there.

We cultivate and curate joy.We actively seek beauty.We build moments of connection, of wonder, of breath.We offer ourselves the very things we once believed were missing.

Love. Exploration. Safety. Expression. Affection. Freedom. Belonging.

This is the real Both/And life — not just a passive holding, but a sacred tending to our aliveness.Not ignoring the pain, but refusing to let it be the only story. Our breath and vitality inform us of our duty to make the most of our life force, our creative expression, our lived experiences.  We are here to live, to take in creation and to create. 

Because joy doesn’t always arrive on its own.  To live is to experience the full spectrum of humanity – good and bad, joy and pain, fullness and sorrow.  Sometimes we have to grow it like a garden — watered by small choices, rooted in intentional care.

And no, it doesn’t cancel out the ache. But it reminds us of what’s still possible.What’s still ours to create.What’s still worth showing up for.

Affirmation to Remember: I plant seeds of joy daily — and I harvest often.Even when the soil still holds sorrow.

I use the sorrow to fertilize my journey and my joy.I turn pain into wisdom. Grief into nourishment. Loss into depth.

We don’t wait for joy to find us.We go out and gather it.

We become the ones who give ourselves the love we long for.

This is not a betrayal of the grief. It’s a devotion to life — even now, even still.

Ava’s Story: Becoming Without Belonging

Ava doesn’t talk about her childhood easily.

When she does, her voice gets quiet — not from weakness, but from the reverence required to speak of pain that has shaped everything.

She was born into a family where her brightness made others uncomfortable. Her creativity wasn’t celebrated. It was resented. Undermined.

Her mother’s disapproval wasn’t just strict — it was sabotaging.Her siblings didn’t tease — they attempted to erase.  They were given permission to do by the adults and caregivers. Her family didn’t just fail to nurture her — they diminished her.

The betrayal of a family that cannot or will not love you rightly…It’s not just heartbreak.It’s a fracturing of self.

But Ava chose something else.  Something within her guided her to seek something beyond what her family attempted to destroy.  She was gifted and talented. 

Not right away. But slowly. Therapy helped.But it wasn’t the chair that changed her. It was what she brought into it:

• The story she had long hidden.

• The addiction she didn’t name.

• The rage that simmered.

• The dream she had always feared was too big.

She stopped waiting for their approval.She stopped explaining her tenderness.She stopped minimizing her brilliance just to keep the peace.

And in the space where grief had lived so loudly…She began to cultivate joy:

• Painting.

• Making music.

• Mentoring others who were once overlooked.

• Educating herself.

• Traveling.

• Seeking healthy connection.

• Building spiritual practice.

• Creating community.

She still aches. She still hopes. But she no longer waits.

“I carry the wound,” she says, “but I don’t feed it anymore.”

Journal Reflection: Where in your life have you had to become who you are without applause or approval?

Ava’s story reminds us that healing sometimes means becoming without belonging — choosing ourselves in the absence of support.

But there are other forms of loss. Sometimes, the pain doesn’t come from what we lacked, but from what we had — and suddenly no longer do.

Dina’s story speaks to this kind of grief. The grief that rearranges your identity. The kind that asks: “Who am I now, without them?”

Dina’s Story: Widowhood and the Weight of Still Living

Dina was married for thirty-four years.Her husband was her home. The one who made the mundane special.

And then, one day, he was gone.

The grief was not loud — but consuming.Not dramatic — but ever-present.

She moved through her days in fragments. She did only what she needed to do.  Nothing more.  Nothing less.  Her grandchildren and her involvement in their lives definitely helped her focus.  And somewhere along the way, she started to believe:

If I feel joy again, it means I’ve left him behind.

She didn’t just miss him.She missed the version of herself that existed with him.And grief became her altar.

But then, one spring, a neighbor brought over seedlings.Tomatoes. Basil. Lavender.

She began to garden again.She took a solo retreat.She began to notice color.

None of it erased the ache.But it made space for something new.

“He was part of my story,” Dina says. “But I am still the author of the rest.”

Journal Reflection: Is there joy you’ve been postponing out of loyalty to grief?

The Spiral and the Trigger: What Returns Isn’t Regression

Just because it returns doesn’t mean you’re back at the beginning.It just means you’ve circled back with new eyes, new strength, new readiness.

Healing isn’t a straight line. It’s a spiral.

A trigger doesn’t mean you’ve failed. It means your system is paying attention. It means a part of you is ready to be witnessed.

Try asking:

• What is this feeling trying to tell me?

• What might I need to care for myself right now?

• What boundary, expectation, or truth needs tending?

You are not who you were the last time this pain surfaced.You are meeting it with more compassion. More capacity. More clarity.

You’ve Got to Bring It to Get It

Therapy is not magic. It’s a mirror.

A therapist can only work with what you bring into the room. You can’t heal what you hide. You can’t transform what you pretend doesn’t exist.

There’s a difference between not being ready and avoiding. One is protective. The other is a delay.

You don’t have to bring everything all at once. But you have to bring something real.

“You’ve got to bring it to get it.”

Show up with the truth. Let healing meet you there.

What You’re Avoiding Might Be What Needs You Most

Avoidance is human. It’s protective. But it comes at a cost.

Avoiding the truth can feel like comfort — but it slowly erodes your power.

Try asking:

• What have I been afraid to admit?

• What part of me is still waiting to be seen?

• What story am I ready to stop living inside?

I can face what I once avoided. Slowly. Gently. In my own time. I am safe to see myself more clearly.

Practices for the Tender Times

• Pause + Ask: What is rising in me right now?

• Name What’s True: Without judgment.

• Give Yourself What You’ve Been Waiting For: Be the source.

• Let the Body Lead: Breath, movement, stillness.

• Set a Micro-Boundary: Protect your tenderness.

Affirm: I am allowed to tend to myself. I don’t need to earn rest, care, or gentleness.

Closing Reflection: You Are the Author of What Comes Next

You are not what happened to you. You are not the one who was left behind. You are not stuck, broken, or lost.

You are the one still choosing.Still becoming.Still writing.

Affirm: I plant seeds of joy daily — and I harvest often.Even when the soil still holds sorrow.I use the sorrow to fertilize my journey and my joy.

Let this be your reminder:

You are the co-author of what comes next.