Healing is a word that’s being hashtagged and sold, and thrown around,
But I wonder if it has truly been found
In a felt sense and expression,
In an innate need we’ve met
Or have we turned it into something else we need to try to ‘get’.

Instead of holding space, we get caught in a chase,
Of more. This modality, that guide, courses upon courses,
Trying to find –

Our own wholeness that already exists.

I know for me, this pursuit perpetually persists,
Striving, seeking, reaching for an end,
Getting frustrated while I try to pretend
I’m doing ‘the work’, I’m taking it all in,
Where in reality I’m wearing myself thin,
Trying. Striving. Seeking.
Missing the point.
Uncovering, understanding, nodding along as it all makes sense,
While my stomach drops with just how immense
And how deep, the stories go
How it doesn’t matter how much I ‘know’.

I’m not broken.
I’m not a walking wound.
I’m not about to fall apart anytime soon.
And inside, yes, there is stuff to heal,
There’s expression to free and emotions to feel,
But I’m projecting my agenda on my own pain,
Turning healing into something else to gain.

But –

All of those parts of me aren’t asking to be expelled,
All of those parts of me are just asking to be held.

A poem by Yvonne Doherty

Image Credits: Unsplash – Ante Gudelj / Aditya Saxena

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Yvonne Doherty
Yvonne Doherty
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