Some days you heal. Some days you just hold on. Both count.

Healing gets described like a straight line: hurt, then better, then fine. Real healing doesn't read the brochure.

Some days you feel strong. You laugh, you plan, you think the worst is behind you. Then a song, a smell, a date on the calendar — and you're back in the storm.

On those days, you don't have to heal. You just have to hold on. The rope is enough. The dock is enough. The light on the horizon doesn't need you to row toward it right now.

Holding on is not going backwards. It's how you stay above water until the calm comes back. Both kinds of days count.