Loss…

Resignify

It’s not forgetting.

It’s not painting over it until it sounds good enough to tell.

It’s looking at what hurt, straight on, without flinching, and deciding you’re not going to live there anymore.

Not because it didn’t happen.

Because it’s no longer yours.

It took me a long time to understand the difference between carrying the past and learning from it. They’re completely different things. One weighs you down. The other holds you up.

There are things I lost that aren’t coming back. Relationships. Versions of myself. Certain mornings that existed only once and that I could never recover. Tears that stayed in the shower because that was the only place that had room for them.

And for a long time I called that loss.

Just.

Loss.

But it was more than that. It was always more than that.

It was learning built in silence, in the nights I kept going even when I didn’t want to. It was strength that doesn’t announce itself, that has no pretty name, that only shows up when there’s no other option.

Resignifying is that. It’s giving a different name to the falls without denying them. It’s looking at a goodbye and understanding what it taught you, without romanticising the pain, but without wasting it either.

It doesn’t erase anything.

The past stays there, intact, with all its edges.

But it changes the place it occupies inside you.

It stops being the weight you carry.

It becomes the solid ground you stand on.

And that, I learned, is one of the most courageous things there is.

Not erasing what was.

Refusing to let it define you forever.​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​​