Dangerous Places To Revisit

Some places in the mind feel like broken glass—jagged edges of memory, sharp with pain. We tiptoe around them, careful not to bleed. But avoidance is not healing. The past does not dissolve just because we refuse to touch it. It waits. It lingers in the body, woven into breath, posture, the instinct to flinch before impact.

Healing is not a forced march back into the fire. It’s not about muscling through or proving we can withstand the burn. It’s about widening the space inside us so we can hold the heat without turning to ash. It’s about stepping toward the wreckage only when we have the tools to sift through it—when our nervous system is steady enough to stay, when our breath is deep enough to carry us through.

Some doors should not be kicked open, but unlocked gently, with patience and care. And when the time comes—when we have the strength, the support, the bandwidth—we can return. Not to relive, not to drown, but to reclaim. To gather the lost pieces and make something new. Because in the places we feared were our undoing, we may just find our becoming.