Diaries of a Twenty-Six-Year Old Girl

I used to numb myself in order to escape the pain—
through alcohol, mindless scrolling, even stress eating—
anything just to feel okay.

Only it never made me feel okay.
And my emotions kept knocking on a door—
I refused to answer.

I bottled up anger and resentment, ashamed,
because I had always been told those were “negative” emotions.
No one ever taught me what to do with them.
No one ever taught me how to forgive.

So the hurt got swept under the rug,
left for time to handle.

But time didn’t give me the apology I was searching for.

Those feelings didn’t disappear—
they waited.
Quietly building beneath the surface
until they eventually spilled out.

I tried to think my emotions away,
Instead, I learned to come back to my body.

I wanted to keep hold of the grudges,
Instead, I learned how to forgive.

Not for them—
but for me.

Forgiveness wasn’t meant for the person who caused me pain.

It didn’t mean feeling warm, grateful, or “over it.”
It didn’t mean what happened was okay.

Instead it was a way of processing:
This happened. It affected me,
and I won’t keep carrying it in a way that keeps hurting me.

I wasn’t excusing it—
I was reclaiming my life instead of letting that anger consume me.

It didn’t mean my anger was wrong.

My anger was information.
Explaining that this mattered to me.
A boundary had been crossed.
And I had been hurt.

But holding onto that anger only kept me tied to the past.

I once heard someone say:
“Picture the person who hurt you. Notice the emotions that come up.
Now realize—that action no longer exists and you’re in the present moment.”

My perception changed as I sat there meditating.

Their actions were in the past.
They had moved forward.

But my body was still holding on—
as if it were still happening.

So instead of suppressing it,
I let myself feel it. I let it burn.

Fully.

I gave my anger space to exist without judgment.
I asked what it was protecting me from.

Most of the time, it pointed towards disrespect.

But I couldn’t let it live there.

Because anger isn’t meant to stay—
it’s meant to move.

It needed to go somewhere.

Into a boundary,
through expression,
release,
or action.

I let my anger take up the space it needed
until it moved through me.

And when it did,
I was finally free—
and there was finally room for peace.

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