Healing Isn’t Always Visible

Here’s something I’ve had to learn the hard way: emotional trauma doesn’t just pause because other parts of my life are going well. In fact, when everything looks like it’s working. My job, my routines...that’s sometimes when the pain feels the most confusing. And honestly, the most isolating.

People assume that if you’re “doing well,” you must be okay. But I’ve had days where I’m smiling in a meeting or checking things off my to-do list, all while carrying something heavy inside. It’s a weird disconnect. Like I’m living two lives. And for a while, I thought maybe I was just being dramatic or ungrateful. But that’s not it.

What I’ve come to understand is that strength doesn’t mean being unaffected. It means I keep going, even when parts of me are still healing. It means I can hold joy in one hand and pain in the other. And still move forward...

Half-Built

I laid the bricks with calloused care,
Each stone a vow, each beam a prayer.
The hammer sang from noon to gloom.
While you locked yourself in that silent room.

I raised the walls against the storm,
You curled inside where it was warm.
I built a home, you built a tomb.
And still I knocked upon your room.

I carved our names in timber grain,
Through sweat and sun and aching strain.
The walls still bare, the floors undone.
You turned away, said you were done.

The roof not raised, the paint not dried,
Yet still you walked, no last goodbye.
You left the frame, the ghost, the gloom.
While I stood knocking on your room…

The Goodbye That Still Hurts: Grieving Love, Family, and a Dream That Won’t Let Go

It’s been about a month since my ex and I broke up, but some days still feel like it just happened. The pain doesn’t show up in the same way every day. Some days are numb, others quietly heavy. But then there are days like today that hit hard and unexpectedly.

Last night, I kept waking up from a recurring dream. Every time I fell back asleep, I re-entered the same story. I was at my ex’s house, surrounded by his family, and some people I didn’t know. At first, it seemed like I was there for some kind of gathering. But with each loop of the dream, the reality sank in: I wasn’t there to celebrate. I was there to pack up the last of my things. I was there to say goodbye.

There was one girl I didn’t recognize. My gut told me she was probably his new girlfriend. That part hurt. Not in a jealous way, but in the way that reminds you how quickly your place in someone else’s world can be filled.

I hugged everyone goodbye except for him. His mother, who had once welcomed me warmly, was nowhere to be found. But his father hugged me tightly as I cried in his arms. He didn’t say anything. But in that moment, he felt like the only one who truly saw me.

Today is Mother’s Day in Belgium, where I live. I think that’s what triggered it. I used to be invited to every family event. Birthdays, holidays, and especially Mother’s Day. Since I live and work abroad, and don’t have any family here, his family had become my sense of home. Losing that connection feels like losing more than a relationship. It feels like I’ve lost a piece of stability, a piece of myself.

What’s made the grief even harder is the way it ended. My ex was emotionally avoidant. He constantly suppressed his feelings, avoided real conversations, and never took responsibility for how he treated me. And when it all fell apart, his mother’s only response to him was: “She shouldn’t have tolerated your behavior.” As if the burden of change or accountability was never his to carry. As if my pain was just a poor choice I made.

I just don’t understand why someone’s learning experience has to come at the expense of traumatizing others. Why do we have to carry the scars of someone else’s emotional immaturity while they move on, seemingly unaffected?

But I didn’t tolerate it because I was weak. I tolerated it because I loved him, because I believed in the connection, and because I hoped he would grow. Now, I’m left grieving not only the relationship, but the life I imagined, the family I thought I was becoming part of, the future I thought we were building.

This pain is layered. It’s not just about missing him. It’s about missing the world I thought we were creating together. The closeness. The routine. The trust I tried to build. And on days like today, when everything reminds me of what I’ve lost, it feels overwhelming.

I’m sharing this because I know I’m not alone. Someone out there is probably feeling this same invisible grief. The kind that doesn’t always make sense to others, but feels so deeply real. If that’s you: I see you. You’re not crazy, and you’re not broken.

We gave our hearts honestly. And even if it wasn’t met with what we deserved, we still deserve healing. One day, this ache will ease. One day, we’ll feel like ourselves again.

But for now, I’m letting the pain breathe. And I’m trusting that this goodbye, no matter how slow or painful, is clearing space for something better.

深海 - Shinkai

 

I’ve drowned in your deepest truth, yet I’ve forgotten how much of a diver I was.

My flutter kicks might have no couth, but guess that’s how I survived your vast ocean.

Your whirling winds and its tempest.

I’ll keep on swimming.

Stockholm and All that Jazz

I spent almost a week in Stockholm. Within just three days, I become familiar with the city. 

I would love to go back though, but not alone this time, I guess.

Funny that my favorite thing to do in Stockie was probably doing nothing. Just walked in to the random café, having saffransbullar and a cup of coffee.

I just wished I didn’t do it all alone.

Well, I met some new friends, of course. 

But again, I just hoped my friends got to see what I saw.

It’d be nice, I think.