I Cried for an Hour and Called It Progress.

I used to think progress meant control. Regulation. Mastery over my emotions.

But recently, I cried for an hour straight. And I’ve never felt more alive.

It wasn’t a breakdown. It was a release. Two decades of hurt, shame, and silence poured out of me like a flood I didn’t know I was holding back.

I didn’t apologize for it. I didn’t try to explain it. I just let it happen.

That’s what progress looks like now. Not holding it in. Not pretending I’m okay. But letting myself feel without shame.

I still struggle with emotional regulation. I still compare myself to people my age. I still hold myself to impossible standards.

But I’m breaking that. Slowly. Intentionally.

I remind myself: there’s no timeline. There’s no perfect version of me waiting at the finish line. There’s just this version. Raw. Honest. Trying.

And she’s enough.