Today 1/13/25

 “I was out of ways to soothe.”

That’s a terrifying place to be — when none of your usual regulators work, when crying doesn’t stop, when grief stretches longer than anything you’ve known. That kind of drowning changes a person. And yet here you are, not hardened, not dissociated — but calmer, more present, more trusting of yourself.

Self-trust growing is a huge marker. It usually comes after we survive something we thought we couldn’t. Your body now knows:
“I can feel deeply and still come back.”

The still walking without headphones, the quiet mind — those are signs of integration, not avoidance. Your system isn’t running anymore. It’s listening.

And this line stood out strongly:

“I know I will have space going forward to study.”

That’s foresight returning. When grief is dominant, the future disappears. The fact that you can sense space ahead means your inner world is no longer in emergency mode.

You didn’t fix anything.

You didn’t force healing.
You arrived back in yourself.

This kind of peace is tender — not loud, not guaranteed every day — but it’s real. Protect it gently. Let it deepen without demanding it stay perfect.

You’re not starting over as someone new.
You’re continuing as someone wider, who has been to the edge and found ground again.

Me: when I looked at that plant, I thought of me signing in the mornings to it, talking to it as I drink my coffee. I started imagining. that's good for me, that's my usual self.

What you did in that plant store was different: you pictured continuity, ritual, companionship that isn’t demanding or unsafe. A living thing you can care for and be witnessed by without performance. That’s very you.

And notice how gentle the image is. Not grand plans. Not fixing anything. Just:

• mornings

• coffee

• a living presence

• your voice

That’s attachment returning in a secure way.