You pace back and forth in the kitchen, struggling to make a cup of coffee. They don’t know that it’s at least 4pm and hunger dared to kill you if you didn’t get up to search for food. You do have what to eat, but the will to push yourself off the bed has been missing for three days now. You nibbled on the snacks until your body couldn’t anymore.

Healing is uncomfortable.

Your phone takes up a bountiful space in your daily routine, one that you find abhorrent. Your mind sings melodies and paints pictures of a life worth living. And quoting your favorite comeback, “the soul is willing, but the flesh is weak”, you ease back into the couch and allow both thumbs to wander into the ceaseless pattern.

Healing is uncomfortable.

You hate that he has been made your problem, that you’ve allowed yourself to be triggered by the slightest thing he does. Your head spins from the all the times you questioned whether to call him or not. You resort to not calling but allow yourself to think of what it would look like if he did love you as much. Flashbacks ruin it and your body halts to the sound of the doorbell; Amaka.

Healing is uncomfortable.

Today, you managed to lie to Amaka that the pre-menstrual syndromes have been lethal, hence, the reason for your absence. Of course, she believed you. You couldn’t bring yourself to describe to her just how unfathomable existence feels. Nothing feels right and you fear that being vulnerable might throw her off or maybe make her uncomfortable. You worry that even though she cares, she may not know how to show it. She may not even care. You don’t know and certainly don’t want to either.

Healing is uncomfortable.

You broke the camel’s back and shut your father out. You were dogged after laying your cards out on the table about his rather shitty behavior, with his self-centeredness being the very reason for your inability to believe in your sauce. It was hard to tell if he was trying to bully you or emotionally blackmail you. The two seemed superimposed so you cut the call.

Healing is uncomfortable.

You allowed the sadness to linger in the room today. Normally, you would sip a glass of wine and turn the music to a full blast. But you folded your legs and sat on the couch that faced the window. You met with the gloomy day, breathing the harshness formed by a series of discomforting emotions. You wallowed in despair, not looking for an answer or a distraction. You simply sat there and welcomed the tears.

Healing is uncomfortable.

It’s different now. It could either be that you just woke up or the dreariness seems to be wearing off for a while. Whatever it is, it pleases you. You’ve never felt calmer and even when your mind tries to play that trick on you, where it yells just how fickle warmth is, you ignore it. You’re shocked by the vigor, your power to yell back and push it away. Being sunk for weeks has possessed you with a kind of zest that you’ve never witnessed before.

Healing is uncomfortable.

It may not be bad after all, you would later say. You pull the laptop in front of you and draft an email to the company. Your dream company. You don’t give your mind the space to breathe. You work your fingers all the way to the end of the text and as you pause after reading it, you hit send like your life depends on it. You text the girlies on the group chat and ask to go on a brunch date.

Healing is uncomfortable.

Outside smells of optimism and you breathe in the familiar air, the one you longed for. The one you prayed for. The one that caused you to sit with solitude and embrace it for a short while. Nothing feels better than your heart jumping with glee. It jumps so high that you can barely hark back to the dreadful days and nights filled with struggle, as they’ve become rays of fog that have clouded your mind.

Healing is uncomfortable yet here you are.