P.S. I'm Healing

This essay is about becoming. About climbing out of the fire of your own past, learning to stop building your life on the approval of others, and taking responsibility for the little versions of yourself that still live within you. At twenty-seven, I am learning what it means to survive—and what it means to build something that will finally stand. .... If this piece resonates with you, you can rea...

I found this gem tucked away in my voice memos from over a year ago. At the time, I practiced this often. It was imperative for me. I struggled to feel what was happening inside my body. I didn’t know how to bring safety to it. But over time, I grew familiar with the practice. Through repetition, it became a habit—almost like something a gentle parent might have taught me. I’m sharing this with yo...

For a long time, I lived as though the energy of the universe was scarce. As though there was not enough—love, grace, possibility—to go around. But there is. There is abundance. There is gratitude. Follow along and listen as I move through what I am grateful for. The list is long. It is light. And somehow, for the one telling it, it is also heavy. I am grateful to be here. I am grateful for what h...

I wonder if my future self is calling out to me. I wonder if she is happy—if she looks back on me encouragingly. Does she know that we deserved better all along? I imagine she is beautiful. Sometimes I catch a glimpse of myself in the mirror—not in a vain way, but the way a mother looks fondly at her child. My eyes fill with tears when this happens. I hope she knows how beautiful she is now. I hop...

Welcome to P.S. I’m Healing! Here you will find a space to pause and reflect. I share my writing, thoughts, and what I’m learning, and sometimes bring on guests to share their stories and journeys. New episodes drop on Sunday’s—grab your headphones, take a walk, or get cozy, and let’s dive in. xoxo, S.G. wells This is a public episode. If you would like to discuss this with other subscribers or ge...

I worked so hard to reach the middle space— the part of the ocean still deep and blue, yet touched by the sun. Clear enough to see, to fly, to frolic. Here, the regular divers dwell. I’ve learned to hold my breath— soft, regulated— doing flips and tricks in my fins. The creatures that once scared me now dance beside me. But sometimes I am pulled back down, into waters the sun cannot reach. Old pat...