Healing isn’t soft like dawn’s first light,
It’s more like thunder cracking through the night.
It’s trembling hands and tear-stained skin,
It’s crawling out from deep within.
It’s not a straight or gentle line,
But spiral paths through mud and time.
You fall, you rise, then fall again—
Each ache a teacher, each scar a friend.
It’s facing truths you tried to hide,
The pain you laughed at just to survive.
It’s shouting no when silence grew,
And learning yes can wound you too.
It’s letting go of who you were,
To meet the self you still prefer.
It’s grieving versions that can’t stay,
While planting seeds that bloom one day.
It’s saying, I deserve to mend,
When all you want is just the end.
It’s trusting time, and breath, and space,
To shape the healing into grace.
So if it hurts, you’re not off track—
It means your soul is coming back.
Not perfect, pure, or newly made—
But strong and real, and unafraid.
Thank-you for reading.
Remember there are many paths back to God.
Follow your own path,
Brenda Marie
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This poem is a raw, powerful anthem to the true nature of healing—messy, nonlinear, and fiercely transformative. The imagery of *”thunder cracking through the night”* and *”spiral paths through mud and time”* dismantles any illusion of healing as passive or pretty. Instead, it’s framed as a battle, a reckoning, and ultimately a homecoming to the self. The lines *”It means your soul is coming back. / Not perfect, pure, or newly made— / But strong and real, and unafraid”* are particularly striking, celebrating resilience over redemption. A stunning reminder that healing isn’t about erasing scars, but honoring them. Beautiful poem Brenda 🌷🤝