What Healed Looks Like

Two years ago, I began to limit my time outside the house.

It wasn’t a dramatic decision — more of a gradual retreat. Steve’s decline was accelerating. The long arc of caregiving had begun to press hard on both of us. The stress, the vigilance, the heartbreak. My health was wearing down. The choice to stay close to home wasn’t just about caring for him — it became about caring for me too.

It was a difficult transition. I’ve always loved spending time with people, especially in environments that felt hopeful, fun, creative. But over time, our routine at home became all-consuming. A steady flow of doctor visits and treatments that felt more like a slow unraveling than a path to healing. Constantly managing side effects. Trying to stave off the depression — Steve’s, and my own.

Still, we believed. We believed if we just held on long enough, we could get to the other side of convalescence. We could reclaim the dreams we had for our retirement years. We could finally rest, travel, create.

But here’s the thing about all of that:

There is no “getting back” to those dreams.

They were planned for and designed by two different people, in a different time, under circumstances that no longer exist.

Now that I’ve crossed the threshold into the next stage — the one where Steve no longer walks beside me in the flesh — I understand: getting back is actually moving on.

Moving on means letting go of what was, in order to embrace what is.

These days, I find myself looking around at the place I call home. So much has been long neglected. The clutter of a life interrupted. The things I once thought I needed — some still full of meaning, others heavy with the ache of memory.

There is so much that wants to be released.

So much that longs for the gentle touch of intention, of feng shui. So much that calls from outside these walls, waiting for the version of me who is healing.

And if you’re wondering what healed looks like — because I talk about healing a lot, but I’ve never quite defined it — this is what I know:

Healed looks like a regulated nervous system.
It looks like pursuing what interests me with a sense of sovereignty and assuredness.
It looks like clear boundaries spoken in a soft, sure voice.
It looks like letting go and filling up at the same time —
letting go of what doesn’t align with my truth,
and filling up with things that feel like a summer breeze.

I am beginning to see the path.
It comes in and out of focus, as I continue to turn down the volume on outside noise
and tune more deeply into the sound of my own soul.

I don’t know exactly where it leads yet. But I’m following it.
One breath at a time.