I Don’t Owe Anyone My Healing Timeline.

My mother had a timeline for everything. When I should bounce back. When I should stop crying. When I should be “normal” again. Her expectations weren’t written down, but they were everywhere, in her tone, her silence, her sighs. I learned early that healing wasn’t something to be witnessed, it was something to be hidden, rushed, performed. And even now, years later, I still feel the phantom pressure. I still catch myself measuring my progress against a clock she built from fear and control.

Letting go of that timeline has been one of the hardest parts of healing. It’s not just about her voice, it’s about the way I internalized it. The way I still expect myself to be “better” by now. The way I feel guilty for resting, for grieving, for needing more time. But I’ve stopped apologizing. I’ve stopped shrinking to fit someone else’s schedule. I’ve started celebrating the small steps: the days I get dressed, the moments I feel joy, the times I speak my truth without flinching. These are victories. Not because they’re big, but because they’re mine.

I’m learning that healing isn’t linear, and it isn’t owed. It’s a quiet reclamation. A slow, sacred unfolding. And every time I choose softness over shame, every time I honor my own pace, I rewrite the story she tried to hand me. I don’t owe her my healing timeline. I don’t owe anyone that. What I owe is truth. And the truth is, I’m healing. In my own time. In my own way. And that is enough.