The Day I Might Finally Say It Out Loud

I’m sitting here getting ready for counseling, and I already know what the hell is coming.

We’re not skimming the surface today. Not talking about work stress, not talking about the calls, not talking about the easy shit I can package up and hand over without really feeling it.

No… today she’s going to dig.

Straight into the childhood trauma. The stuff I’ve spent years dodging, deflecting, minimizing—whatever the hell I had to do to keep it boxed up and buried where it “belongs.”

And I’m sitting here asking myself the same question on repeat:

Is today the day?

Is today the day I actually open my mouth and say it?Is today the day I stop dancing around it and just… give it away?Is today the day I finally let someone see all of it—the shit I’ve kept locked down so tight it feels like it’s part of my DNA now?

I don’t fucking know.

That’s the honest answer.

I wish I had some deep, insightful clarity like, “yeah, today’s the breakthrough.” But the truth is, I’m sitting here anxious as hell, running scenarios in my head, already feeling that tightness in my chest like my body knows what’s coming before I even decide anything.

What I do know is this: this whole thing—this healing shit—is a process.

And it’s not the pretty, Instagram version of “growth.”It’s not motivational quotes and breakthroughs and feeling lighter after.

It’s ugly.

It’s painful.

It’s sitting in a chair knowing you’re about to rip open something you’ve spent your whole life trying to keep closed.

It’s questioning everything.

Lately, it’s been making me rethink relationships too. Not just the obvious ones—the ones where harm was clear—but the gray-area ones. The ones where maybe they weren’t the ones who caused it… but they sure as hell didn’t protect me from it either.

And that part? That part messes with me more than I expected.

Because it forces me to ask questions I’ve avoided for years.

What do you do with people who stood by?What do you do with the ones who were supposed to be safe… but weren’t?What does rebuilding—or not rebuilding—those relationships even look like?

I don’t have answers for that yet either.

Mostly, I just sit with it. Uncomfortable as hell.

And then there’s the question that keeps creeping in when it gets quiet:

Who would I be if none of this ever happened?

Would I still be me?

Would I still have ended up where I am—doing this job, living this life, carrying this mindset?Or did all that shit shape me into this version of myself?

And if it did… what does that mean?

Because there’s parts of me I’m proud of. Parts of me that are strong as hell, resilient, capable of handling things most people never will.

But those parts didn’t come from nowhere.They were built from something.

And that something wasn’t good.

So now I’m stuck in this weird place—trying to figure out what parts of me are mine, and what parts are just survival.

Trying to figure out who I actually am underneath all of it.

Trying to figure out who the hell I’m going to become if I start peeling these layers back.

And maybe that’s the scariest part of all.

Not the memories.Not even the pain.

But the unknown.

Because if I really start healing… if I really start letting this shit go…

Then everything might change.

How I see people.How I trust.How I connect.How I exist in my own life.

And yeah—part of me wants that.

But part of me is also terrified of it.

So here I am. Sitting here before this session, stuck between holding on and letting go.

Wondering if today’s the day I finally say it out loud.

Wondering if today’s the day something cracks open.

Or if today is just another step in the process.

Either way… I guess I’m walking in.

And maybe for now, that’s enough.