Some storms come without warning. Others build slowly on the horizon, giving just enough time to prepare but never enough to truly be ready. Whether sudden or anticipated, they leave their mark—on the body, the heart, the spirit. The winds strip away what once felt certain, the rain blurs the path forward, and the thunder echoes long after the skies clear. But when the storm passes, something else remains. A quiet. A space. A beginning.

Healing is not about erasing what happened. It is about standing among the wreckage and choosing, in your own time, to rebuild. It is about acknowledging the weight of what was lost while making room for what can be found. This is not a process that moves in straight lines or predictable patterns. It is messy, filled with days of strength and nights of doubt, moments of clarity followed by waves of uncertainty. The body holds memories even when the mind wants to forget. The heart aches for what is gone even as it reaches for what is ahead. And through it all, there is the quiet whisper of something deeper—a reminder that even in brokenness, there is worth.