love this and I agree 100 %
I see this so much these past few years. Idk if it all those years before lost in the wilderness of alcohol and drugs, or a combination of that and ageâŚanywayâŚgood stuff. We have overcome so very much. Thanks for sharing.
Itâs a great quote and absolutely goes here. 
Love this Sassy!! Thanks for sharing!!
Beautiful. Worth a read and a pass on to someone (my sister in this case) with just the caption âLook!â
The link at the bottom of the page, healing is violent is worth a read too!
That is one of the most beautiful things I have ever read. Thank you for sharing. I needed that.
You are right. I read all I could without entering an email. Beautiful, thanks for sharing.
Here you go. I copied it to my email, one paragraph at a timeâŚ.itâs that important rn.
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Healing is Violent [from Patti Dighâs substack]
People think healing is softâlike sinking into a warm bath, or curling beneath a blanket while the universe conspires gently to mend whatâs broken.
But real healing is violent.
It tears. It burns. It strips away the scaffolding you built to survive.
Because healing doesnât just ask you to get betterâit demands that you see.
And thereâs nothing more terrifying than waking up one day and realizing that the self youâve been polishing and protecting was never really you. That the calm youâve prided yourself on was just suppression in disguise. That your independence, so often admired, was built from the rubble of mistrust. That your perfectionismâthe thing that earned you approval and safetyâwas born from fear.
Healing is the slow, brutal process of unlearning what once kept you alive.
No one tells you that. They tell you about closure, about forgiveness, about peaceâbut not about the nights youâll spend grieving the version of yourself who got you this far. The one who learned to be small enough not to provoke anger, useful enough not to be discarded, smart enough to see trouble coming before it arrived.
She kept you safe. But she also kept you stuck.
And so, healing is a kind of mourning. You stand at the edge of your old life, holding the hand of a self made of armor, and you whisper your gratitude before you let her go.
She wonât go quietly. She will claw her way back into your thoughts, reminding you how well her methods worked. How dangerous it is to soften. How unwise it is to trust.
But real healingâthe violent kindârequires that you stay. That you stand in the wreckage of your old patterns and resist rebuilding them. That you learn, for the first time, what safety feels like without walls.
Itâs not gentle work. Itâs demolition.
And yet, once the dust settles, you begin to feel something beneath the rubbleâsomething fragile, trembling, alive.=
Itâs you. The real you. The one who existed before the fear, before the performance, before the survival strategies became identity.
That discoveryâthe moment you realize you no longer need to be who you once wereâis the softest, fiercest, most holy peace of all.
Healing isnât pretty. Itâs honest. And maybe thatâs what makes it sacred.
Love,
Patti
Well worth your effort, thank you.
So spot on and what I have been trying to articulate for a while. I honestly always felt like two people, the polished outside and the real messy inside me. Iâm working to drop the facade.
Thank you, these are excellent and Iâll be reading more by this writer.
Beautiful
Iâm still in demolition mode sometimes, like these days now. Those old armor really can crawl back allthough itâs not needed anymore.
