New life, who's this?

A note on healing and self recognition

As I plugged in my hybrid and leashed my service dog for our 6am run in the woods in the quiet little town I just moved to, after listening to Noah Kahan’s Maine during the two-minute drive, I wondered for a moment:

Who am I?

What happened to the person that would gawk at running, period, let alone at 6am? The one who would drive a bit too fast in their Subaru Impreza while blasting punk, rap, and metal? The one who would keep that music blaring in their ears with any sort of exercise, not leave the buds at home to listen to the [checks notes] birds?!

What happened?

They started healing.

Sometimes healing can leave us as unrecognizable versions of ourselves, but that’s a good thing. For too many years I chose to sit in the pain and live it out in various ways. When I went out with friends it wasn’t just for dinner and a walk, it was to drink until 2am. When I worked out I could feel the tension and the anger in my body.

When I felt unheard or misunderstood I would argue and beg to be seen. I would allow mistreatment because I was afraid of being alone, and I shied away from folks I thought were too good for me, because I didn’t really feel worthy of their time.

I didn’t want to be that person anymore. I didn’t want to feel the heavy anxiety in my body every day. I didn’t want to jump at every minor inconvenience just because my nervous system was already flooded and overwhelmed.

I wanted peace, so I started to choose it.

It’s not that the wounds aren’t still there. Gods, no. I’ve cried so much the last six months I’ve sometimes wondered if I’d ever stop. I thought, at first, that the tears were just about the fresh heartbreak and the transition, and some of them were, but a lot of it has been old grief coming to the surface. I’ve come to realize that the more I lean in, without judgement, and let the tears flow… the better I start to feel.

My inner child still reaches up with fear and craves connection, and my inner teen grits their jaw with rage, but instead of unleashing I witness. Instead of spiraling I release and soothe. I validate their triggers, and settle in the new ways of responding to them.

We cry when we need to cry, and there’s no shame in it. We don’t fight to be understood, we clarify and set a boundary, and make decisions based on responses. We seek repair with those who are open to it, and we definitely don’t beg people to stay.

We choose peace.

I choose peace.

After all, this is the part of me that has always wanted to be seen— the piece of self that was buried under thorns of protection and walls built from trauma. I want to be soft, and vulnerable, and open to genuine connection. I want to lean into my aspirations and believe in myself so fully that I have no other option but to succeed. I want to shine the way I always knew I could, and expand that light that I had kept dim for the sake of others who didn’t deserve to be in the glow of it.

I’ll fight for that part of myself, not in loud, begging ways, but in the quiet revolutions of choice. I’ll lean into those glimpses of self that I’ve been seeing more and more, and soon enough, I’ll recognize that person plugging in their hybrid before their 6am run.

In healing,

Mx. Dani

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