Maybe the Edges Just Soften

I struggle so much with self esteem, self worth, self belief. I see so many other folks that seem to hold a belief in themselves that feels so foreign to me. Folks say they wouldn’t know that I lack confidence. I’ve heard things like “You seem so sure of yourself” or “You’re doing amazing things”, but the truth is, I’ve spent most of my life surviving.

I spent my entire 20s in an abusive marriage. Before that, I was in a terrifying and physically abusive relationship with my dealer, who sold me to pay off drug debts. My childhood was complicated by childhood sexual abuse, followed by an almost four-year-long court case that stretched from my freshman year to my senior year. Things I rarely talk about anymore. Parts of my story I just don’t share often. Parts I’ve tried to forget. I’ve tried to move on. But they’re still present.

They’re present when I show up filled with self doubt. When I feel like “I was bad,” “I’m going to be in trouble,” “I let them down.” All these messages rush in. Old tapes playing. I truly can’t shake the doubt that I’m not good enough. Not believable. Not enough. Too much. Too loud. Too emotional.

I’ve done all the therapy. I’ve been on all the meds. Trauma treatment. EMDR. DBT. CBT. Workbooks. Yoga. Spirituality. Meditation. All with the expectation that I would be healed. That some new version of myself would erupt and I’d finally be okay. But it hasn’t happened.

Life is hard. Days are tough to navigate. The world is painful to exist in.

I have days of joy. Moments of support. Hopeful glimmers. But overall, shit is just hard. And now the mental stuff is accompanied by a lot of physical problems too. Chronic pain. Limited mobility. Endometriosis. Perimenopause. Cardiac issues. Fatigue is an understatement. It's more like pure exhaustion in a world that demands productivity and performance.

I’m still unhealed, in a world that blames me for not trying hard enough. For not wanting it badly enough.

Maybe your healing is a myth. Maybe we don’t all heal. Maybe the edges soften. Maybe that’s all we can hope for.

Maybe we can honor the unhealed parts. The parts that don’t believe in ourselves. The parts that carry doubt and shame and fear.

Maybe I don’t have to believe in myself all the time if I’m surrounded by people who do. Who cheer me on. Who hold me up when I can’t hold myself.

Community care looks like people holding hope when I can’t. Not demanding performance. Just meeting me where I’m at. Not asking “Have you tried therapy?” or “Yoga?” or “Meds?” but simply saying, “Hey, that sounds hard. I’m glad you’re here still.”

Maybe we don’t all heal in the ways we were promised. But maybe we don’t have to do it alone. Maybe that’s where we begin again.