Healed Doesn’t Mean Holy

You know what I’ve realized? People have a fucked-up idea of what “healing” is supposed to look like.

They think healing means calm voices, soft smiles, and talking like you’re made of clouds and herbal tea.

They think if someone is truly “healed,” they’ll speak like they’re floating two feet above the ground — whispering affirmations and humming with the universe.

Well let me tell you something real — I am healed. Fiercely healed. And I still speak like me.

People look at my language — the sharp edges, the grit, the way I write and talk with my chest — and they think, “How can someone who talks like that be spiritual? Be healed?”

Easy. Because healing didn’t erase me.
It revealed me.

Healing didn’t turn me into some soft, delicate version of myself. It stripped me down to my truth. It burned off the fake layers I built to survive and left me standing in my power — raw, loud, and real.

Healing isn’t about becoming gentle so other people feel safe around you. Healing is about finally feeling safe inside your own skin.

I earned this fierceness. I bled for it. I walked through fire for it. And the woman standing on the other side doesn’t whisper. She roars.

So yea, I talk the way I talk. I write the way I write. I use words that make some people uncomfortable.

But that doesn’t mean I’m broken.

It means I’m no longer performing for a world that never gave a fuck about my softness in the first place.

I am healed. And I am fierce.

Those two things can — and do — exist at the exact same time.

If anyone doesn’t get that, it’s not because I’m wrong — it’s because their definition of healing is too small to hold someone like me.

I didn’t heal for them.

— Jaye