Quotes About Healing

Most of me was glad when my mother died. She was a handful, but not in a cute, festive way. More in a life-threatening way, that had caused me a long time ago to give up all hope of ever feeling good about having had her as a mother.

You will lose someone you can't live without,and your heart will be badly broken, and the bad news is that you never completely get over the loss of your beloved. But this is also the good news. They live forever in your broken heart that doesn't seal back up. And you come through. It's like having a broken leg that never heals perfectly—that still hurts when the weather gets cold, but you learn to dance with the limp.

And I felt like my heart had been so thoroughly and irreparably broken that there could be no real joy again, that at best there might eventually be a little contentment. Everyone wanted me to get help and rejoin life, pick up the pieces and move on, and I tried to, I wanted to, but I just had to lie in the mud with my arms wrapped around myself, eyes closed, grieving, until I didn't have to anymore.

Forgiveness is giving up all hope of having had a better past.

Not forgiving is like drinking rat poison and then waiting for the rat to die.

I have a shelf of comfort books, which I read when the world closes in on me or something untoward happens.

In every childhood there is a door that closes. Only real love waits while we journey through our grief. That is the real trustworthiness between people. In all the epics, in all the stories that have lasted through many lifetimes, it is always the same truth: love must wait for wounds to heal. It is this waiting we must do for each other, not with a sense of mercy, or in judgment, but as if forgiveness were a rendezvous. How many are willing to wait for another in this way?

We all try to forget what hurts us, it is sometimes the only way we can continue.

but old wounds don't stop aching. They are always under the surface, ready to remind one of the original injuries.

Friendship eased the heart and the mind, but there were times when the touch of arms around you healed an ache within that nothing else reached.

Anyone who has lost a love to death can tell you about that fall. You wake from a hard-won sleep and be there warm and groggy and consider engaging the day. And then you remember. Half of you is not there, and never will be again. The person who focused all the disparate parts of you into a whole is gone. The agony is too much; you almost welcome the great slide ahead of you. But there is no oblivion in it. Only blackness and an endless well of red pain.

Grief is in two parts. The first is loss. The second is the remaking of life.

Meanwhile in my head, I'm undergoing open-heart surgery.

Then all this became history. Your hand found mine. Life rushed to my fingers like a blood clot. Oh, my carpenter, the fingers are rebuilt. They dance with yours.

Poetry led me by the hand out of madness.

I'm in pain because the day is ending and somehow I am never healing.

Pain engraves a deeper memory.

The butterfly owns her now. It covers her and her wounds.

I need someone, aside from pain, to rock me out, away, alone.

Turn wounds into words

Transformational Fiction teaches how to assess, understand, and heal sexuality.

He's gone now. He did something terrible, but...he did good things, too. And he kept us well. And it's all right if you are sad.

It occurred to her that Mikaela was being nice to her. She did not know how to react, for when your heart has been poisoned and someone picks a dandelion for you -- because it is bright and yellow and you seem like you could use something like that -- all you can do is contemplate the funny ways of weeds.

There are so many ways to heal. Arrogance may have a place in technology, but not in healing. I need to get out of my own way if I am to heal.