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I'm about halfway through a month that I've been dreading for awhile now, and to say I've been competing in the mental Olympics is an understatement. My mind drifts to memories that have my emotions shot-putting from one extreme to the next, and other times I'm sprinting to get past a feeling I don't want to explore. It's a side effect of trauma — and it's a discomfort that comes with healing.

A year ago I received an anonymous DM that would begin a domino of truths which culminated in a complete breakdown. The cinematic combination of events still has my friends speechless to this day. It had them speechless back then with little to no ability in how to comfort me. That's the thing about heartbreak, it's not a one size fits all. We know this. One person's drunken escapades, rebound hookups and rom-com marathons with chocolate doesn't always apply to healing your broken heart. For me it was mental, emotional and spiritual. At 28, I thought I'd been through it all when it came to love and friendships, but you can't prepare for everything.

And I wasn't ready. I wasn't ready to lose the man I loved, I wasn't ready to end a friendship and I wasn't ready to let go of people who quickly showed they weren't looking out for my best interest. I wasn't ready for any of it. I think until the Mike Tyson style blow came at the end, I was prepared to try and forgive and be an "adult" and work through it. I think God had other plans. And if you don't believe in God, call it fate or karma, but I never saw someone's actions catch up to them like I did in receiving the truths of my former boyfriend.

It was very odd to be at the receiving end of other people's actions and feel the pressure to make life altering choices, when in reality, the choices had been made. And for every choice, there was a consequence. Whether he or I was ready to accept those consequences is a difference of opinion, but I had to put myself first, and that meant walking away from someone who may have loved me but didn't respect me.

Healing has no timestamp. Everyone heals in their own time and their own way. I thought I'd have some Beyoncé, post Lemonade glow-up that would make my ex weep, but even if that was the case, it doesn't change the fact I still had to heal. I think as women, that's the hardest part for us to talk about. The healing is ugly. It's not just a new haircut, 10 pounds down, fire captions on the gram with a bomb selfie, and that's it. Ugly was nights with tear soaked pillows, sobbing in front of my family during the holidays, developing anxiety from the overwhelming pressure I felt from my ex and our friends. Ugly was avoiding romantic movies, songs, relationships and scrutinizing everyone around me. Ugly was second guessing and distancing myself from people who I couldn't trust anymore. Ugly was taking several social media breaks because the internet wasn't helping one damn bit. It was all ugly. Necessary or not.

I learned somewhere in my early 20s, if I didn't give myself the time to heal, that pain was going to manifest somewhere later. I especially didn't want that now — I don't believe in subjecting another person to my pain because I didn't want to deal with it. I had to allow myself to cry, journal, listen to podcasts, go outside, go exercise and just be functional. Adjusting to a new normal took time. It felt like I was walking a tightrope and never finding steady footing because everything felt triggering.

It's been a year, and I've transformed in many ways since those series of incidents that still leave me in tears, if I think hard enough. And for the growth and the ability to celebrate the small steps, I'm thankful. I'm grateful for the support system I have that is void of judgment. I'm happy that I feel functional and more self-aware than I ever was. I can celebrate the professional and personal milestones I've had because despite the aching, it hasn't been all doom and gloom. My faith, family, friends and mentors were constant blessings even in the times I sat in my sadness.

Even now, I'm sure it would be easy for anyone to be like "It's been a year, you aren't over it?" I'm sure that thought comes to mind even if they don't vocalize it. But I'm still healing, and some days are better than others. Some days I can feel the biggest internal war going on in the fiber of my DNA and I have to exercise, write, talk it out or pray to get past those crippling feelings of anxiety. I'm pushing 30 and have to seek healthy treatments and remedies for exploring my thoughts and feelings because being reckless with myself will only delay the process.

I can't find the answer in the bottom of a bottle or in the arms of another man that I frankly can't even give myself to. So I'm here to say, I'm halfway through a month that is triggering (Jhené Aiko style) and testing my mental toughness, but I'm getting through it. And that's OK. Healing isn't a sprint or a cross country run, it takes time.