Giving Myself Credit

The quiet progress I used to overlook

There are a lot of types of growth that I forget to give myself credit for.

The moments that not too long ago would have made me feel like my knees would give out.

It’s really hard when you’re taking your own journey to heal, not to forget to give yourself credit where credit is due. I don’t know how many times there have been that I have encountered a challenge or a hurdle, and I am more critical of myself than I ever deserved.

These are moments that I know, without a doubt, that if someone else were going through them, I would extend my hand to them. Moments that I would never let their shoulders sag from carrying the weight alone. Moments that I am certain that I would try my very best to be strong so that they didn’t have to.

One of the hardest parts of healing that I have noticed, is accepting that there is no final destination. I am someone that strives from being able to mark things off of a metaphorical list and say I did it.

But one of the harshest truths of healing is you can rarely ever say that.

And yet another truth about this, is that I have accepted that that’s OK.

I have entered into a committed relationship with healing. We are going to be lifelong partners with ups and downs, highs and lows, dead ends and roundabouts.

The simple fact that I have joined into this lifelong union is something that deserves celebration.

So often I have to give myself a mental shake or a verbal reminder that this is true. Too often I navigate through a scenario that would have ruined my day years ago, and I forget to say that I survived it. Too frequently I accomplish the incredible art of mending a piece of me that was once broken, and it slips my mind to congratulate myself.

I am slowly, but surely learning to be as big of a supporter of myself as I am of others.

At what feels like a glacier pace, I am learning to shout my own praises.

And maybe that’s what this looks like for me right now. Not a finish line, or a version of me that never struggles again.

Just someone who pauses long enough to notice that I handled something differently.

Someone who doesn’t spiral the same way.

Someone who recovers a little faster.

Someone who is starting to recognize strength while it’s happening, not just in hindsight.

I think for a long time I believed growth had to be loud to count. Obvious. Measurable. Proven.

But lately, it’s been quieter than that.

It’s in the moments where I don’t abandon myself. Where I speak a little softer in my own head. Where I don’t chase perfection, but I also don’t tear myself apart for falling short of it.

It’s in the fact that I stayed with myself.

Even when it would have been easier not to.

And maybe that’s enough.

Maybe that’s more than enough.

Because the version of me from years ago?

She needed someone to show up for her like that.

And I finally am.

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If this resonated with you, my book The Yellow Was a Lie dives deeper into the quiet, complicated work of healing, and what it takes to stay, to grow, and to become someone you can finally stand beside.