Questioning how far I’ve really come.

I genuinely thought I had gotten through it. That I was in a better place. And maybe I still am—but today, something was said that made me question it all.

My flatmate spoke to my mum and brought up that one time I self-harmed. Without asking me. Without warning and without any right to share something so deeply personal.

It hit harder than I expected. Not just because of what was said, but because I didn’t consent to it being said at all. I’ve spent so much time trying to move forward, and for the most part, I really believed I had, but having something that vulnerable dragged back up—by someone else, in a way I couldn’t control—makes me question how far I’ve actually come.

Maybe you relate. Maybe you’ve had people bring up your pain like it’s just a footnote in their conversation. If so, I want you to know: you’re not alone. Your progress is still real, even if this moment feels like a setback. And no one gets to measure your healing but you.

Some wounds don’t reopen—they just remind you they’re still there. Quietly. And still healing.