The sunlight drifted through the window, in warm rays of yellow. The day whispering, It’s time to start again, I’m here for you.

The tree bends, breaks, and lives through the storm, but despite the wind and rain, the roots still hold on to the earth.

You will split open, more than once in your life. You will feel raw, numb, all your thoughts laid out in front of you, pictures of your torn-up soul. But you will come home again, back to the parts that make you whole.

She will move on, tired of your mistakes and false promises. She will not reply to your “I miss you” texts, she will not answer your calls. Because while you were busy in the sheets of someone else, she was healing, finding strength, realizing that she was better off without you.

It may not always be clear, but the universe does want good things for you.

She loved to watch the storms roll in. The kind that cast shadows over the sky, thunder so loud you could hear it for miles. She would curl up beside the windowsill, a book in one hand, a mug of tea in the other, and she would enjoy the rain. The pounding raindrops, almost as loud as her heart, washing away the pain.

I hope you find time for yourself, in between the motions of the week and all the things that keep you up at night. In between it all, I hope you find a moment to breathe.

You are in control of your own progress, the only person who can decide how much or how little you tread. No one else gets to decide for you, no one else gets to tell you what defines your “getting better.” All the things you struggle with are yours, your battles are yours, and your victories are yours.

On a cloudy day, I went to lunch with some friends. A hidden maze of cafés wedged between old red brick walls, and flower pots lining the stalls. I sketched fingertips across white-tipped leaves, had coffee near sunflowers, and breathed in fresh air. Then the clouds parted, and the sun shone, and in that fraction of a moment, the world felt healed.

All these sounds that take up living spaces, echoing of first dates, a song of someone in love, a child laughing at her father making faces, a friend holding open the door, a traveler returning to familiar places. All sounds of being alive, of wanting all this healing to be so much more.

You will often ask yourself

who was I back then

who am I now

who will I be

And even if you don’t have the answer

I suppose the real journey

is just to keep going

The space in your heart that opens and closes to love, how it will suffer, but oh how it will renew. Keep your pulse beating to all the love inside of you.