Listen Linda

There’s a silence in recovery that doesn’t ask to be filled. It’s the silence that falls after you’ve looked into the mirror and finally told the truth. Not that you used, not that you lied. But somewhere along the line you disappeared.

And we tolerated so much-the chaos, the abuse, the numbness disguised as relief. And then we learn to make ourselves small enough to fit into someone else’s version of love. Even if it cost us, our souls.

Amends aren’t just words spoken. They are rituals. Waking up sober and still choosing to stay sober.  Answering the phone we once silenced. Letting people see the mess and not the mask.

And then forgiveness. God, forgiveness is tender violence. It’s slashing through self-hatred to cradle the girl beneath. This girl who thought surviving meant losing herself, first.

So, we forgive people who hurt us. Not because they deserve it. But because we do. And then we learn to forgive ourselves. Because no one can do the work for us. We pray—not like someone who needs rescuing, but like someone who is relearning her name in God’s voice. And he speaks it softly: Beloved. Redeemed. Restored.

Recovery is holy ground, and you walk barefoot. Because the girl who once disappeared is back. And I don’t just look in the mirror now. I see someone worth staying for.