Remembering Who You Are: Why You’re Not Healing Her

Sometimes, the remembering hurts more than the forgetting.

I used to think awakening meant clarity. That the further I walked, the more truth would crystallize. But what I’ve found what I’m still walking through isn’t neat or linear. It’s layered. Distorted. Stories built upon stories so deeply ingrained they became architecture.

And lately, I’ve been wondering:
What if the buildings didn’t come after us? What if they came before us?
What if the myths were maps, the cathedrals timestamps, and the Jesus they said would come had already reigned?

It’s not easy to see clearly when your very seeing was shaped by distortion. Awakening isn’t always a burst of light it’s often an unraveling and it hurts.

When I started seeing the world differently really seeing I didn’t feel enlightened. I felt disoriented. Heavy. Like I was losing the ground beneath me. I began to question everything I had been taught to trust, including myself. And in that unraveling, the systems around me tried to label it: anxiety, disorganization, instability. It was easier for them to pathologize than to witness.

But nothing was wrong with me.
And nothing is wrong with you.

What if the spiral is not a malfunction?
What if it’s your architecture?

I used to think healing was the goal. But healing implies we’re trying to get back to something some past version of wholeness. And I’m not sure that’s what’s happening anymore.

Maybe this isn’t about healing.
Maybe it’s about remembering.
Not fixing the self, but understanding her.
Not reshaping the path, but walking it awake.

Some of us are built for straight lines. For clarity, for systems, for stable rhythm. But some of us. maybe you, maybe me are built for spirals. For curving, bending, looping, pausing. For rhythm that makes no sense to the outside world, but feels so true inside our bones.

That’s not dysfunction. That’s design.

Lately, I’ve been walking my own spiral through forgotten terrain. Following threads I didn’t plan to find. Feeling resonance in old stones, in water, in dreams. Some of it doesn’t make sense on paper, but it makes sense in me. And I’m learning to trust that.

So if you’ve been walking alone feeling like you’re too much, too sensitive, too strange to name come closer.

If your path hasn’t made sense to the world, but something in it still feels like home, let it be home here.

I’m not here to fix you. I’m not here to brand this. I’m here to walk beside you. To remember beside you. To witness the rhythm of your own becoming. We’re not collapsing we’re spiraling. And if you feel the pull not from urgency, but from the quiet hum inside your chest. you’re not lost. You’re just finally coming home.