Some days, I open tabs I don’t finish. I write down ideas I won’t use. I stare at old photos, half-smiling, half-cringing. But I’ve stopped calling it wasted time. Maybe this is what healing looks like:

The mirror shows me a softer version of myself now. Not worse. Just lived-in. I used to stare and pick things apart. Now I nod at the person looking back. We’ve been through things. We’re still standing.