inching towards healing.

Sometimes we inch towards our healings.- Sarah Bessey

When it comes to healing, I always want instantaneous results.

I want to feel better now.

I want to be better now.

I want healing to happen overnight, with little to no work involved.

That’s not how healing works, though. 

healing in itself is defined as a process. not an overnight miracle.

it’s the process of making something whole. meaning it has to fix the broken pieces and make them whole again, not just put a bandaid on them and pretend everything’s going to be better in the morning.


I have a lot (a lot) of crap to work through. A lot of healing to do from hurts in the past and brokenness that is too much to write here. I’ve suffered a lot emotionally, mentally, psychologically, at the hands of both myself and other people.

It’s a lot to heal from. A lot to deal with on my own. Especially when I want it all to just go away in the blink of an eye.

I like doing things the easy way (ask my Mom how she feels about this). I’m a shortcut, easy way kind of girl:  if it can be done faster and easier then I’ll do it that way, even if it costs me somewhere else.

I like comfort. I like my comfort zone over doing new things that scare me- hence why my homebody status today had me in pajamas binge watching Friends for the 3rd time in 3 months.

I choose silly and goofy over serious. It’s a lot easier to hide how I really am behind sarcasm and goofy dance moves.

I hate conflict– I want everything to be good and happy and peaceful. Conflict, both internal or external, cause me to flee and hide.

I like things quick and painless, shortcuts and easy DIY fixes. Transformations that happen overnight.

I think that’s why DIY shows both invigorate and frustrate me so much: because while the appearance is that change and transformation happens nearly overnight (like I want), the shows don’t give us the behind-the-scenes. They don’t show the whole transformation, from beginning to end– they only give us the highlight reel. They make it appear to take as little time as possible, without showing us all the extra stuff required to get those transformations done. It doesn’t take into the account the before and after processes that the transformation has to go through.

They only scratch the surface of the transformation– like I’ve only scratched the surface of the healing process. 

Healing requires work. Hard work. Unavoidable work. Work that I’d rather say no thanks to. But work that is needed to get to and through the muck to find the other side.

Healing requires me to face my mess. It requires conflict and awkwardness and vulnerability– all things I hate. And yet, the healing process promises that those things will be worth it in the end.

Healing requires time. Too much time. But if it took me years to suffer from what needs healing, it should take at least that amount of time to find healing, right?

But yet, I want it fast. I want it easy, pain-free, comfortable.

But healing isn’t any of that.

Healing is awkward. It requires me to delve deep into past wounds and hurts that I’d rather keep buried underneath where people (myself included) can’t find them. Sharing scares me because I don’t want people to see all of me and decide that I’m not worth all the mess I bring with me.

Healing is scary. Therapy is one of the best and hardest things I’ve ever done, because it requires me to be honest and upfront with my whole life– all of it.

Healing is hard. It takes so much out of me– dedication, energy, going back to a place of hurt and pain. I hate uncovering that stuff. It hurts. It’s uncomfortable. It’s exhausting.

Healing is slow. It’s not a sprint in a marathon. I can’t expect to be healed of every little thing that I’ve been hurt by after one therapy session or one talk with a friend. Healing is inching your way through the process of becoming whole– taking the broken pieces and the mess, and holding them up to the light, in hopes to work through them to find wholeness again. It’s messy and uncomfortable and God is it painful– but when I hold these things up to the light, the pieces of my brokenness start finding their place in this process, and help me to become whole. One. piece. at. a. time.

Healing is not easy. It’s frustrating at times, having to re-live the hurt and the pain. It’s never-ending. But it’s necessary. Healing is the only way I can be who I’m made to be. Healing is the only way I’ll find wholeness in spite of the baggage and mess I carry with me. Healing provides me a way to work through the mess and learn how to handle it, instead of let it continue to break and hurt me.


This past week I’ve been studying Philippians. The whole book amazes me– Paul is so joyful and encouraging despite his circumstances (he wrote it while in prison). His faith in Jesus changes his whole perspective.

There’s one verse in particular that has stood out to me this whole week, Philippians 1:6.

 “He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus.” (NIV)

I love the Voice version:

I am confident that the Creator, who has begun such a great work among you, will not stop in mid-design but will keep perfecting you until the day Jesus the Anointed, our Liberating King, returns to redeem the world. 

Anything He starts in us, He will bring to completion.

No matter how many times I stop or try to avoid it, He WILL bring my healing to completion.

It won’t be today or tomorrow. But He started this process in me, and somehow, someway, He will figure out a way to help me complete it. Even when I don’t want to.

Healing is a process to becoming whole; Jesus won’t leave me where He found me in my brokenness. Through healing, I will find wholeness again– and He will lead it to completion. He won’t forget. He won’t give up (even when I do). He won’t stop when it gets hard (like I have too many times). He will keep inching me towards healing, until the day I finally find wholeness again. It’s going to take time and work, but He promises there will be an end to it all– and He won’t let it go until we get there.

Healing isn’t going to fix me and my baggage instantly. No matter how hard I want it to, therapy and medicine and all the things I do to help find healing are not easy overnight fixes. They require dedication and time and energy I’d rather spend sleeping.

But I do it. Because I’ve seen the opposite of healing, and I don’t want to be in that space again. I want to be whole. I want to be me, baggage and all. 

I want to find healing. And I’ll inch my way there, instead of sprinting for a quick fix that does nothing but hurt me more.

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