This Is What Healing Really Looks Like (It’s Not Linear)

After my divorce, people expected me to bounce back with speed and strength—like healing was some kind of checklist:

• Cry?

• Accept it?

• Move on?

But that’s not how it went.
Healing didn’t come in neat stages. It didn’t follow a timeline. It wasn’t clean, or pretty, or predictable. It was messy. Some days I felt like I had conquered it all, and the next day, I was back in the mud.

This is what healing really looked like for me.

1. One Good Day, Then Three Terrible Ones
At first, I thought I was doing fine. I was productive, eating well, even making jokes with friends. Then one afternoon, I caught a familiar scent—a perfume she used to wear—and I broke down. Just like that.

That’s when I learned: healing doesn’t happen in a straight line. You don’t “get over it” once and for all. You get over it again and again, in waves.

2. Grieving the Marriage—and the Man I Was in It
I wasn’t just grieving her. I was grieving me. The man I used to be when we were together. The future we planned. The version of life that never got to happen.

It’s strange to mourn a life that existed only in your mind. But that’s part of healing—accepting the death of dreams you didn’t even realize were so deeply rooted.

3. Getting Tired of Telling the Story
At first, I explained my side to anyone who asked, hoping they’d understand, maybe even take my side. But over time, I got tired of talking. I realized I was keeping the wounds open by repeating them.

Healing started when I stopped needing others to “get it” and simply allowed myself to move forward quietly, peacefully.

4. Finding Triggers in the Weirdest Places
Sometimes it was a TV show. Sometimes a song. Sometimes a couple laughing in public. Healing meant getting ambushed by feelings I thought I had buried.

I stopped beating myself up for it. Triggers don’t mean you’re weak. They mean you’re still human.

5. Laughing Without Guilt
There was a time I felt guilty for feeling happy again. Like I was dishonoring the pain, or forgetting what happened too quickly. But eventually, I gave myself permission to laugh. To enjoy a moment without thinking about what I lost.

That’s when I knew I was healing for real.

6. Redefining “Strength”
Before, I thought strength meant staying silent, keeping busy and acting unbothered. But real strength came when I admitted I was hurting. When I sat in the quiet and let the pain have its say. When I cried, not because I was falling apart, but because I was finally releasing what I had been holding too tightly.

7. Creating a New Routine, a New Identity
My life used to revolve around “us.” Now, it’s just me—and that took getting used to. But healing meant learning how to enjoy my own company. How to cook for one. How to walk into a room without feeling like something (or someone) was missing. Honestly? That’s been liberating.

8. Forgiving Myself for Not Knowing Better
The hardest part? Forgiving myself. For not seeing the red flags. For not walking away sooner. For believing love would be enough.

But here’s the truth: I did what I could with what I knew. And now that I know better, I’ll do better. That’s growth. That’s healing.

Final Thoughts
Healing after divorce isn’t a clean-cut journey. It’s messy, uneven, and deeply personal. Sometimes you’ll feel like you’ve moved on—only to feel stuck again the next day. But that’s okay because healing isn’t a destination. It’s a process. A quiet unfolding of self. And if you’re in it right now, take this as your reminder: You don’t have to get it perfect. You just have to kegfhjj

One day, you’ll wake up, breathe deep, and realize that you’ve come a long way.

Joseph Abdalla