It’s strange what your mind remembers once you start healing.

You think you’ve moved on from something. You forgive it. You make peace with it. Then out of nowhere, another memory shows up like:

Healing has been like that for me lately. One thing gets lighter, and something else surfaces, bringing back a memory from when I was younger.

My mom had cooked, and there was a pot of grease that I had to put in the oven. It splashed on my arm, burning the living hell out of me. I tried to set it down, but it hurt so bad that the pot slipped from my hand.

Later, we went to her friend’s house, and they put aloe on it. Aloe is supposed to soothe burns, right?
For me, it burned even more. My legs were on fire. I kept saying it hurt, but my mom brushed it off and told her friend from church that I was lying, like always.

For 30-45 minutes, I sat there crying, begging her to believe me. And in that moment, she not only dismissed my feelings but made it easier for others to dismiss me, too.

As more people arrived for the party, another lady saw me crying and came to have a look. My mom quickly cut her off, “she’s just being dramatic,” she told the lady. As the lady continued to look against my mom’s wishes, she realized it was a second-degree burn.

And just like that, I wasn’t “lying” anymore.

That memory hit me different as an adult.
Because it made me realize where some of my habits come from.

Why I screenshot things.
Why I keep proof of literally everything.
And why I feel like I need receipts in the first place.

When you grow up not being believed, you learn to defend yourself before anyone even questions you.

And maybe that’s why I write things out now. Because there was a time my voice didn’t feel like enough.

Sometimes sharing is just my way of reminding myself that my experiences were real, even when they were questioned.

Healing really does come in layers, and I hope you understand this, instead of feeling like you’re backtracking.