A Little Soul (Two Days Late): Landing After the Storm

“Some days feel like survival. Some days feel like strength. And sometimes, they’re the same day.”

Today feels new.

Not perfect. Not fixed. But soft. Quiet. Grounded.

I’ve done the groceries, made dinner, and watched the sun go down with Bun curled up beside me.

It’s late — 1:36 AM — and I’m still here, still writing. Still healing.

But yesterday…

Yesterday was my birthday.

And it cracked me wide open.

Flashbacks, Grief, and a Body Remembering

I cried for most of the day.

Not the cute, teary kind. I mean full-blown, heart-out-of-chest crying.

Screaming into pillows. Rolling. Shaking. Emotional flashbacks. My nervous system in a state of emergency.

My birthday has always felt strange — like my body remembers something it hasn’t fully spoken.

It was a trauma anniversary. A remembering. A release.

And it hurt.

He Didn’t Fix Me — He Stayed

J didn’t leave.

He didn’t try to talk me out of it, or make it make sense.

He just… stayed.

Still. Present. Safe.

He let me cry. He let me scream. He let me roll around and let it all out. And when I was finally spent — when the storm had passed — he picked me up, helped me back into my body, and held me while I settled.

That was healing. That was nervous system safety. That was love.

Today: The Afterglow of Survival

This morning I woke up different.

Lighter. Calm. Tired, but proud.

I started with 6Hz — the frequency of emotional regulation. Moved gently through the morning while he snoozed beside me. Did a little yoga. Answered some emails. Took a quiet drive to return equipment and say a soft goodbye to something that once mattered.

No dramatic endings. Just grace.

And a kind woman with a warm smile (whose name I sadly forgot).

And that was enough.

Tonight: Strength That Feels Like Stillness

And now, here I am.

The groceries are unpacked. Dinner is done. Bun-Bun McGunnus is tucked in close. And I’m back in my writing space, listening to 7.83Hz — the Schumann resonance, the Earth’s frequency.

The house is quiet. My heart is quiet.

And for the first time in a long time… I feel safe in this body.

Not because the trauma is gone, but because I stayed through it.

Because he stayed.

Because I let myself fall apart and put myself back together.

Because I spoke. And now I write.

This Is How I Speak

I’m still learning how to talk to people.

Still figuring out when humour helps and when silence is sacred.

But here, in this space — with a keyboard and a candle and the hum of a healing frequency — I can tell the truth.

I can say:

🕊 I was born into pain.

🕊 I’ve lived most of my life in survival.

🕊 But I am not just what happened to me.

I am strength.

I am softness.

I am rebuilding.

Okay, that’s it. I’m cooked.

My brain is soft. My body is soft.

There’s oat milk tea on the bedside table and Bun is already snoring (yes, he snores).

If you read this far, I love you.

If you didn’t, I still love you.

I’ll probably re-read this in the morning and want to edit 12 things. But for now —

Goodnight, world.

I did something hard today.

And that’s enough.

🖤

— S.