Getting Over vs Getting Through It

Here I wrote this title months ago and immediately closed the app like it was too loud in the room. I was deep in a “Cranes in the Sky” era — trying to shop it away, work it away, braid it away. Truthfully, I didn’t want to write it. I wanted to feel better without saying the hard part out loud. But here I am, finally facing what I’ve been dodging.

Not because I’m over it.

Because I’m done moving like I don’t still feel it sometimes.

That includes the ways I avoided hard truths, waited too long to name what hurt, or kept showing up like nothing was wrong.

When Healing Isn’t Linear

Healing isn’t a straight line. It’s more like walking through a house of mirrors with no map and bad lighting. People say “just move on,” but what does that even mean when you’re still holding questions, unacknowledged hurt, and the kind of silence that makes you start to question your memory.

The Performance of Getting Over It

For me, getting over it used to mean brushing past it. Journaling my frustration. Extending grace I wouldn’t have received. Telling myself to “take the high road” while still carrying the weight. Creating closure for other people before I created it for myself. It looked good from the outside. But it didn’t feel good.

What Getting Through It Actually Looks Like

Getting through it is slower. Quieter. Less clear. It’s managing friendships that start to feel off. Hearing “I’m not a mind reader” when what I needed was basic consideration. Watching people ask for grace while refusing to be accountable. Avoiding conflict until the confusion becomes emotional distance you can’t come back from. It’s realizing how much emotional labor you’ve done in relationships where you weren’t even being heard.

This Isn’t Resentment. It’s Reflection.

I’m not holding a grudge. I’m holding the truth. I’m not being dramatic. I’m being direct. And I’m done asking myself to keep internalizing pain just because someone else won’t acknowledge their role in it.

Therapy helped me hear myself outside my own head — especially when I was defensive, unsure, or holding onto things I couldn’t say out loud. It’s not for everyone, but it gave me language for what I used to silence.

Better Questions, Realer Answers

What does real reciprocity look like, and why did I think I had to earn it

Why are emotional jabs treated like jokes

Why is the person who’s hurt always expected to show the most grace

And when did grace start to mean abandoning your own boundaries

I also had to ask myself how long I stayed silent, waiting for people to show up differently without ever asking for what I needed out loud.

I’m learning that grace without self-respect is just fear in disguise. And I’ve spent enough time being careful with people who never handled me with care in return.

Friendship Grief Is Real

I’ve been more heartbroken over friendships than any relationship. Romantic grief is loud. Friendship grief is quiet. It sneaks up on you while you’re driving, cleaning, getting ready for the day. When a memory hits and you realize the person you shared it with probably doesn’t think of you at all.

The Cost of Romanticizing Connection

Sometimes it wasn’t even the person I missed. It was the version of them I built in my head. The potential I nurtured, hoping they’d grow into it. The story I told myself to make disappointment feel like patience.

Unlearning Survival Mode

Processing takes time. Sometimes one comment unravels five different wounds. Sometimes you don’t realize how deeply something hurt until weeks later when your body reacts before your mind catches up. I’ve had to unlearn toxic loyalty, spiritual performance, and the belief that giving grace automatically makes me good. I’ve had plenty of chances to place blame. And enough receipts to make it stick. I’ve also had to own the ways I delayed hard conversations or made space for people who’d already shown me they didn’t know what to do with it. But what I want now is peace, not proof.

I’m Not Over It. I’m Moving Past It.

That’s the shift. That’s the freedom.

There’s progress. There’s clarity. And there’s peace that doesn’t require me to deny my experiences to keep it.

Writing this, sharing this, living this — it’s all connected to the work I care about. Whether I’m supporting someone through a fitness goal, helping a client feel seen in my chair, or creating content that feels honest — I know how much being understood can shift someone’s momentum. I know what it means to finally hear yourself clearly. And I’ve learned that ignoring my intuition is the fastest way to lose that voice.

I’m not over it. But I’m through enough to say it out loud.