The Night I Realized Healing Doesn’t Always Feel Beautiful

Not all the way, but enough — just enough people for you to know that loneliness still can be found in the midst of throngs.
A man sitting with a coffee in a paper cup, tired.
One woman got a lot of trouble with her old phone messages, because her phone was set too bright.
A person sleeping, leaning their suitcase against it as if they had run out of breath before getting to their home.
There was me!
Sitting with backpack at my feet, a mind that couldn’t be organized anymore.
This was one of those months in which it appeared fine on the surface, but was falling apart on the inside.
I was still responding to the people.
Still showing up.
Quickly and clearly saying “I’m fine”.
But internally?
The room was like a room after a party.
Mess everywhere.
Noise gone.
There is nothing more left than fatigue.

I recall that I looked around the station, and thought something strange:
Here everybody is carrying something which no one can see.
Not luggage.
Life.
Regret. Grief. Burnout. Fear. Loneliness.
What nobody says in public.
It was just this thought that made me feel better than any motivational saying I ever heard.
As pain became less personal.

After a couple of minutes there was an older man sitting next to me.
Not too close. Close enough so that they can live in silence together.
He appeared very tired, but in a calm manner. As if he was past proving something to anybody after having already been through all the hard years.
We didn’t say a word to each other for a long time.
Then he saw the trails and he said softly:
“People feel inspired to heal all the time, and on most days it feels like it is just a bit tiring.”
I laughed a little quietly as it surprised me.
Not the ‘sentence’.
The honesty of it.

I had been told by social media that healing should be done with grace and elegance.
Morning routines.
Deep quotes.
Coffee cup journal drawings.
But no one really speaks about ugly middle.
The section of you that has to learn to be OK while still holding onto that sadness.
The part in which they barely make a dent.
The part when you start to go back to your old ways and you say to yourself,
Maybe I’m not healing after all.

The man next to me continued to talk casually, as if he’s recalling the details vocally, rather than giving instructions.
He said to me grief takes different forms at different times.
This loneliness subsides over time.
The most difficult aspect of healing isn’t pain.
It’s patience.
He said, “People give up when they feel that they will change in a big way.
After that he smiled slightly.
But most healing comes in very mundane ways, “most healing.

That sentence stayed with me.

Very boring ways.

Not movie scenes.
Not life-changing speeches.
Not one magical morning where everything suddenly feels lighter.

Sometimes healing looks like:

Getting out of bed without arguing with yourself first.

Answering one message after ignoring your phone for days.

Going outside even when your thoughts feel heavy.

Laughing once during a bad week and realizing your body still remembers how.

Tiny things.

Tiny, unimpressive things.

My train came in a couple of minutes late.
The people rose, taking their bags, checking their jackets and resumed their movements.
The older man nodded towards me but walked away in the other direction.
No dramatic goodbye.
All in all, just one last sentence:
“Don’t hate yourself in the process of healing.”
And then he disappeared into the crowd.

I still sometimes remember that.
In particular when it is not an easy day.
I had a realization that night:
Healing does not mean you’re turning into a perfect version of yourself.
It’s learning to bear your pain more lightly.
It’s education that makes for better understanding of this: bad days don’t mean no progress.
It’s the realisation that sometimes you just need to live to live another season.

I’m not sure I’ll remember that station’s name, years from now.
Or the time of the train’s arrival.
I’ll remember, however, this:
A strange person made for a few minutes I felt less alone being human.
And honestly?
He did not realize, that helped more.