We live in a world that loves speed. Fast food. Fast Wi-Fi. Fast responses. Fast success. Even when it comes to healing, people expect us to bounce back, dust ourselves off, and “move on” like we’re machines that just need a quick reboot.
But here’s the truth: I don’t move on fast. And honestly? I’ve made peace with that.
It’s taken me a while to get here — to this place where I no longer feel guilty or broken for taking my time. But once I did, everything changed. If you’ve ever felt like you’re “too slow” to heal or like the world’s moving on without you, I hope my story reminds you that healing isn’t a race. It’s a process — and it’s okay to take the scenic route.
The Pressure to “Just Get Over It”
The moment something ends — a relationship, a friendship, a job, a dream — there’s this weird urgency to move on. People mean well. They tell you it’s for your own good. They don’t want to see you sad or stuck or spiraling. But sometimes, their advice sounds more like a deadline than support.
“Time to let it go.”
“You need to move on already.”
“Don’t dwell on the past.”
It’s as if grief has a timer. Like if you haven’t bounced back in a week or a month, something must be wrong with you. But let me be clear: there’s nothing wrong with you if you need more time.
What “Moving On” Really Looks Like
Here’s something I’ve learned: moving on doesn’t always look like a dramatic transformation. It’s not about waking up one day and being completely fine. It’s not always about blocking someone or deleting every reminder or throwing yourself into a new chapter like nothing happened.
Sometimes, moving on is quiet. It’s subtle. It happens in tiny, almost invisible steps:
- Waking up and not checking your phone for a message that isn’t coming.
- Going an hour — then a day — without crying.
- Smiling at a memory instead of flinching from it.
- Choosing to love yourself on the days you feel the most unlovable.
That’s still moving on. Even if it’s slow. Even if it doesn’t look like progress to anyone else.
Slow Healing Doesn’t Mean Weakness
One of the biggest lies we’re told is that slow healing is a sign of weakness. That if you’re still hurting months or years later, you’re emotionally fragile or overly sensitive. But the truth is, slow healing often comes from deep feeling — and that’s not a weakness, it’s a strength.
If you loved deeply, if you cared with your whole heart, if you poured yourself into something or someone — of course it’s going to take time to untangle yourself from that. That kind of love doesn’t disappear just because you want it to. Your feelings aren’t a light switch.
I used to beat myself up for how long it took me to get over things. A breakup that haunted me for years. A fallout with a friend that left me rethinking everything. Even career failures that left me spiraling in self-doubt. I thought there was something wrong with me because I couldn’t just move on like others seemed to.
But then I realized: everyone heals differently. Some people sprint. Some people crawl. Some people take two steps forward and one step back. And all of it is valid.
The Lessons Hidden in the Pain
Taking your time doesn’t mean you’re stuck — it might mean you’re doing the deeper work. When you allow yourself to feel instead of rushing through the discomfort, you often uncover powerful lessons.
In my own slow healing journeys, I’ve learned:
- What I value — and what I no longer want to tolerate.
- Who truly supports me — and who only shows up when things are easy.
- How resilient I really am — even when I didn’t feel strong.
Pain has a way of teaching you what joy never could. And while I wouldn’t choose heartbreak or failure or grief, I’m grateful for what I’ve learned from sitting with it instead of running away.
Creating Space for Yourself
One of the kindest things you can do for yourself is give yourself permission — permission to not have it all figured out, to still miss what hurt you, to not be okay yet.
That space allows you to move through your feelings instead of stuffing them down. It gives you room to understand what actually happened, instead of pretending it didn’t matter. It gives you a chance to reconnect with yourself — the version of you that existed before the pain, and the version that’s emerging now.
When I stopped pressuring myself to “get over it” quickly, I started to feel lighter — ironically, because I wasn’t rushing anymore. There was no shame in feeling sad, no guilt in taking my time. Just space. Just grace.
When the World Keeps Moving
One of the hardest parts of slow healing is watching the world carry on without you. People post happy pictures. Friends move forward. Life seems to keep spinning while you feel like you’re standing still.
That used to make me feel left behind. But now I see it differently. Just because someone looks like they’ve moved on doesn’t mean they’ve healed. Social media has a way of glamorizing recovery. But healing is messy. And just because your healing looks different — slower, quieter, less picture-perfect — doesn’t make it less real.
Also, healing isn’t a competition. There’s no prize for getting over something the fastest. What matters is how you heal — not how fast.
The Beauty in Moving Slowly
There’s something oddly beautiful about slow healing. It teaches you patience — with yourself and with others. It makes you more compassionate, more grounded, more attuned to your emotional world.
You start to notice the little things — how a walk in nature soothes your anxiety, how a song brings back a memory but doesn’t break you anymore, how you’re laughing more these days. These tiny moments become milestones. And they mean more because you earned them. You didn’t skip ahead. You walked through the fire. And you’re still here.
You’re Not Alone
If you’re reading this and you’re in the thick of it — the heavy part, the confusing part, the “why does this still hurt?” part — I want you to know you’re not alone.
I’ve been there. I still go there sometimes. But I promise you, it gets better. Not always suddenly. Not always clearly. But eventually. And your slow steps forward are just as meaningful as someone else’s giant leaps.
What I’d Tell My Past Self
If I could go back and talk to the version of me who was stuck in heartbreak or disappointment or grief, I’d say:
- Don’t rush. You’re not late.
- It’s okay to feel it all — even the parts you wish you didn’t.
- You’re not broken. You’re becoming.
- Moving on doesn’t mean forgetting. It means choosing peace, a little more each day.
And I’d tell her — lovingly, gently — that one day, she’ll wake up and feel lighter. Not because the past disappeared, but because she finally made space for her future.
Final Thoughts
So no, I don’t move on fast. And that’s okay.
I’ve stopped trying to “bounce back.” Instead, I build back — slowly, intentionally, with heart. I let myself feel, learn, rest, grow. I give myself grace. I honor the depth of my experiences instead of pretending they didn’t shape me.
If you’re like me — someone who heals slowly, who feels deeply, who needs time — I hope you know this: you’re not doing it wrong. You’re just doing it your way. And that’s more than okay. That’s beautiful.
Ayerhs Magazine 