Posted in: Makeshift Masterpiece
A Note to the Reader:
Recently, I shared a piece about surviving — a story of fumbling sacred things and still showing up. It was raw, real, and rooted in the resilience it takes to keep going.
But this? This is also true.
Because there’s more to life than the comeback.
There’s presence. There’s wholeness. There’s peace that doesn’t need applause.
If the last post was about the fire — this one is about the breath.
Both matter. And maybe, just maybe, both can belong.
Wholeness Isn’t a Comeback- It’s a Presence
If you’re tired of being a comeback story… you’re not alone.
Not everyone wants to keep fighting.
Not because they’re giving up — but because they’re finally learning how to be.
We live in a world obsessed with comeback narratives.
The resilience. The rise. The redemption arc.
But what if you’re not trying to rise anymore?
What if you’re just trying to stand still and breathe?
There’s a kind of quiet fight that doesn’t make headlines.
A kind of grace that doesn’t need a before-and-after photo.
Wholeness isn’t a reward for suffering.
It’s your birthright.
We don’t talk enough about how exhausting it is to constantly bounce back.
To always be the one who survived, who persevered, who “pushed through.”
That’s supposed to be inspirational — but sometimes, it’s just heavy.
And when you’ve been through hell — like, real hell — it’s tempting to believe that anything less than perfection now is failure.
That the fumble shouldn’t matter because you’ve lived through worse.
But here’s the thing: it does matter.
And you’re allowed to say that.
You’re allowed to name the small things that feel big.
You’re allowed to admit that sometimes survival mode turns into self-doubt.
That even when life is good, your brain can still whisper, “you should be more by now.”
Some of us never feel like we’ve learned enough, grown enough, healed enough to deserve peace.
We lean on resilience because we don’t feel whole.
But resilience and wholeness aren’t enemies.
They’re companions.
One helps you rise.
The other helps you rest.
Wholeness isn’t a finish line — it’s a rhythm.
You don’t age out of becoming.
You don’t time out of worth.
You don’t owe the world your collapse just to prove your capacity to rise.
There’s something sacred about being present in your own skin.
Something holy about not needing a crisis to feel alive.
Not needing to prove that your life is worth something.
Some of us are learning that we are.
Not perfect.
Not polished.
But present.
The highlight reel worships the comeback.
But wholeness is what’s happening in the shadows, off-camera, uncelebrated.
The quiet breath you took before walking in.
The decision not to spiral even though you could.
The moment you showed up — again — without needing applause.
Some of us aren’t here to wow the crowd.
We’re here to reclaim what was ours all along: peace.
Not perfection.
Not performance.
Presence.
This isn’t about being unbreakable.
It’s about knowing you’re still worthy even when you break.
It’s about knowing your story doesn’t require constant triumph to be worth telling.
Not fighting isn’t the same as not growing.
Sometimes it’s a healthy kind of surrender —
to love,
to value,
to purpose
that doesn’t require proof.
Some of us are tired of being a lesson.
We just want to live.
Rising like a phoenix is beautiful, yes.
But so is not catching fire in the first place.
So is choosing your next chapter instead of clawing your way into it.
So is resting in the middle, not just the aftermath.
This is about belonging to yourself again.
Not because you fixed everything — but because you stopped hiding.
Wholeness isn’t flashy.
It doesn’t chase recognition.
But it does bring peace.
We don’t have to outshine each other to belong.
We can hold grace in one hand and reality in the other and still be whole.
Wholeness isn’t a competition — it’s a connection point.
Faith doesn’t need flawlessness.
It needs presence.
Breath.
And solid ground — even if the ground shakes sometimes.
And if you’re still learning to rest, to breathe, to be —
that doesn’t make you behind.
That makes you alive.
And honest.
And here.
So here’s to the ones who keep showing up —
Not flawless, but rebelliously faithful.
Present in the quiet.
Whole, even with the cracks.
Still here.
