– Real healing takes time—and grace.

There’s this idea we sometimes carry around—that healing is a straight line. That once we make the decision to move forward, everything else will fall neatly into place. But the truth? Healing rarely works like that. It twists. It loops. It pauses. Sometimes it even feels like it’s moving backward.

And that’s okay.

In one of my earlier blog posts, I talked about the importance of preparing for yourself—not just for a relationship or marriage. That message is still ringing true in my heart today, especially as I reflect on the journey of healing after disappointment, divorce, or deep emotional hurt. We often pray for a future that we aren’t yet ready to receive. But God, in His wisdom, gently redirects us back to our own wholeness first.

Let me be honest—I haven’t always walked this out perfectly. There have been moments I wanted the process to hurry up. I’ve sat in church services praying for clarity and strength, only to wake up the next day with the same ache still pulsing in my chest. I’ve questioned whether I was “doing it wrong.” But the more I’ve leaned into grace, the more I’ve come to understand:

Healing doesn’t need to make sense to be real. It just needs to be allowed.

You might have days when you feel empowered and whole—and then a random song, scent, or memory knocks the wind out of you. That doesn’t mean you’re not making progress. It means you’re human.

We don’t need to shame ourselves for still feeling. We need to learn to grace ourselves through the process.

Scripture reminds us in Ecclesiastes 3:1 that “There is a time for everything, and a season for every activity under the heavens.” That includes a season for healing. And unlike what we may want, God doesn’t rush seasons. He uses them. Every tear, every reflection, every quiet moment is part of the transformation.

So what do we do while we wait for the wound to scar over?

We focus on growth.

We take care of our hearts.

We prepare—not for a person, but for the purpose God has for us.

We stop measuring healing by how long it’s been and start measuring it by how deeply we’re learning to love ourselves again.

And maybe most importantly—we stop pretending we’re fine when we’re still finding our footing.

Let’s normalize the ups and downs. Let’s celebrate the good days without being ashamed of the tough ones. Let’s stop expecting healing to be efficient and instead honor it for being sacred.

Because real healing—the kind that roots deep and sustains us for the future—takes time. And it takes grace.

And yes, it’s absolutely okay that it’s not linear.


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