When Pain and Everyday Life Walk Side by Side

September 6th – Today I caught myself smiling at the light on the kitchen table. The memory still visited me later. Both happened, and both belong.

The flashbacks that don't ask permission

Some experiences don't stay neatly in the past. They return as flashes — a sudden picture, a sound, or the same moment replayed on the inner screen of your mind. You might be folding laundry or making tea, and suddenly you're there again. The body reacts as if it's happening right now. The heart races. Breathing shortens.

It can feel disorienting: how can life go on, when this is still so present?

And yet, the ordinary shows up

At the very same time, I notice myself thinking about the most everyday things. What to cook for dinner. Which sweater to wear. Whether the leaves are already turning gold outside my window.

At first, it felt almost wrong. How can I be planning next week when my heart still aches? How can the ordinary exist alongside something so heavy?

But slowly, I've realized: this is what healing actually looks like.

Healing is not either/or

Healing isn't about pain disappearing first and then life continuing. It's not a clean line where one ends and the other begins. Healing is both. It's carrying the weight and making space for the simple. It's remembering what happened and noticing what's happening now.

The two don't cancel each other out. They walk side by side. And maybe that's the quiet wisdom of healing: that life doesn't wait until everything is fixed. It keeps flowing, inviting us to laugh even while tears still come, to notice the sunrise even on heavy days.

Healing is messy, imperfect, and deeply human. It's not about choosing between grief or joy, but realizing they can live in the same heart, often at the very same time.

Giving permission for both

There is relief in allowing both truths to exist:
🌿 that the memory is part of me now,
🌿 and that I'm still allowed to laugh, to plan, to enjoy small things.

I don't have to choose one reality over the other. I can hold them both. And maybe that's what resilience really is — not shutting pain out, but learning to live alongside it.

Psychologists often describe resilience as our capacity to adapt in the face of hardship. It doesn't mean we come out unchanged or untouched. It means we bend without breaking, we soften without shattering.

Over time, even the heaviest experiences can be woven into the story of who we are. The memories don't vanish, but they lose their sharp edges. What once felt unbearable becomes something we can carry, and sometimes even something that makes us stronger, more compassionate, more present.

A gentle reminder

If you find yourself caught between the weight of memory and the pull of everyday life, know that both belong. You are not betraying your grief by living. You are not erasing your joy by remembering.

Both can be true at once.
And that is more than enough.

A gentle question for you

Have you ever noticed your own life holding both — the weight of memory and the lightness of ordinary moments? What helped you allow them to coexist?

If this reflection touched you, I'd love to hear your thoughts in the comments. And if you'd like more gentle reminders on healing, resilience, and self-love, you're welcome to join me on Instagram @selflavie. 🌿

Soft hugs,
Selflavie