Nobody tells you that healing is messy.

They show you the before and after. The testimony at church where someone shares how broken they were and how whole they are now. The Instagram post about transformation. The book with the tidy three-step process.

But nobody shows you the middle.

The part where you take two steps forward and one step back. The part where you think you're past something and then get triggered again. The part where you wonder if any of this is even working.

I wish someone had told me the truth about healing before I started. So let me be that person for you.

Healing is slow. Healing is messy. And you can't do it alone.

It's Slower Than You Want

Here's what I wanted when I started my healing journey: I wanted the pain to stop. Immediately. I wanted to read the right book, pray the right prayer, attend the right seminar—and wake up fixed.

That's not what happened.

What happened was slow. Painfully slow. Incremental progress that was hard to see in the moment. Days where I felt like I was moving backward. Weeks where I wondered if I was kidding myself.

And then one day—months later—I looked back and realized how far I'd come.

Here's what I wish someone had told me: Time is the only true healer.

Not a technique. Not a breakthrough moment. Not a magic formula. Time. Consistent effort over time. Showing up over time. Healing over time.

One year from now, you will feel very differently than you do today. I know that's hard to believe when you're in the middle of it. But it's true. I've lived it. And I've watched hundreds of others live it too.

The question isn't whether healing will come. The question is whether you'll keep going long enough to experience it.

It's Messier Than You Expect

Let me tell you about Sarah.

Sarah came to me convinced she was broken beyond repair. She'd been through trauma as a child, made some destructive choices as an adult, and was now watching her marriage fall apart. She wanted me to fix her—fast.

The first few weeks went great. She was learning new things, having insights, feeling hopeful. She told me, "I think I'm finally getting better."

Then she had a setback. A big one. She fell back into an old pattern she thought she'd left behind. And when she came to our next session, she could barely look at me.

"I ruined everything," she said. "All that progress—it was for nothing. I'm right back where I started."

She wasn't right back where she started. Not even close. But she couldn't see that.

That's the lie setbacks tell you: that they erase your progress. They don't.

Healing isn't a straight line. It's a squiggly mess that generally trends upward—but with plenty of dips along the way. Two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes two steps back. But still, over time, forward.

Sarah's setback didn't erase her growth. It revealed an area that still needed attention. It was information, not failure. And once she stopped beating herself up, she was able to learn from it and keep moving.

That's what healing looks like. Not perfection. Progress.

It Requires Honesty

Here's the thing that changed everything for me: honesty.

Not honesty with other people—though that matters too. Honesty with myself.

For years, I told myself stories. I minimized. I justified. I blamed. I pretended I was fine when I wasn't. I white-knuckled my way through life, convinced that if I just tried harder, I could fix myself.

I couldn't.

It wasn't until I got brutally honest—about my patterns, my wounds, my failures, my fears—that real healing began. As long as I was hiding from myself, I was hiding from healing.

You can't heal what you won't acknowledge.

This is hard. It's painful to look at yourself clearly. It's uncomfortable to admit that you're not as far along as you pretended to be. But it's also the doorway to freedom.

The truth will set you free. But first, it might make you uncomfortable. That's okay. Lean in anyway.

You'll Never Be "Done"

Here's something else nobody tells you: healing doesn't have a finish line.

I used to think I'd reach a point where I was "healed." Past tense. Complete. Done. I could check the box and move on with my fully-transformed life.

That's not how it works.

I honestly don't believe I'll ever be done healing until I'm dead or Jesus comes back. There's always another layer. Always more to learn. Always room to grow.

And you know what? That's actually freeing.

It means I don't have to be perfect. I don't have to have it all figured out. I'm not failing if I'm still working on stuff. I'm just human—on a journey that lasts a lifetime.

Healing isn't a destination. It's a direction.

You're not trying to arrive somewhere. You're trying to keep moving the right way. And as long as you're moving—even slowly, even messily—you're winning.

You Can Still Impact Others While You Heal

One of the most surprising things I discovered was that healing and serving aren't sequential. You don't have to wait until you're whole to help others.

After my world fell apart, I spent time abroad—in Southern Lebanon, then Ethiopia. I served refugees, orphans, widows. I ministered to people in desperate situations.

And I was still healing the whole time.

Being a "wounded healer" doesn't mean you're disqualified from helping others. It means you bring something to the table that fully-polished people can't: empathy. Understanding. The ability to say, "I've been there too."

You don't have to have it all together to make a difference. Sometimes your wounds are exactly what qualify you to help someone else with theirs.

You Can't Do It Alone

Here's the most important thing nobody tells you about healing:

You were never meant to do it by yourself.

I tried. I tried reading books alone. Praying alone. White-knuckling alone. Figuring it out alone.

It didn't work.

What worked was people. AA meetings where I showed up and told the truth. Mentors who had been where I was and could show me the way forward. Therapists who helped me see what I couldn't see. Trauma specialists who understood what was happening in my brain. An Internal Family Systems guy who helped me understand the different parts of myself. Friends who loved me at my worst.

I needed all of them. Every single one.

And here's why: isolation is where shame thrives. It's where lies go unchallenged. It's where you convince yourself that you're the only one who struggles like this, that no one would understand, that you're beyond help.

Community breaks all of that.

When you show up with people who get it—people who are on their own messy journeys—something shifts. You realize you're not alone. You realize your struggles aren't unique. You realize that healing is possible because you're watching other people do it.

You need people who will walk with you. Not people who will fix you—people who will walk with you.

What I See in the People I Work With

Can I be honest about something I see all the time?

People come to me wanting the pain to stop. And I get it—pain is painful. But they want to rush the healing. They want the fast track. They want to skip the messy middle.

And when they have a setback—when they do the thing they swore they'd never do again—they think it was all for nothing. They're convinced they've disappointed me. They're terrified I'm going to judge them.

I never do. Ever.

Because I've been there. I've had the setbacks. I've done the things I swore I wouldn't do. And I know that setbacks aren't the end of the story—they're part of the story.

You don't have to be perfect. You just have to keep going.

And you don't have to keep going alone.

The Invitation

If you're in the messy middle right now—feeling like healing is taking too long, wondering if you'll ever get there, tired of doing this alone—I want you to know something:

This is normal. This is how it works. And it does get better.

But you need people.

You need a community of fellow travelers who understand. Who won't judge your setbacks. Who will cheer your progress, even when it's small. Who will remind you that the journey is worth it when you forget.

That's why I created Smalley Sojourners.

It's a community for people who are healing—not people who have arrived. We show up messy. We show up honest. We show up together.

Healing is slow. Healing is messy. And you were never meant to do it alone.

This is what Smalley Sojourners is all about.

A community for people on the journey—not people who've arrived. We show up twice a week, do the hard stuff together, and keep moving forward.

✅ Twice-weekly live coaching with me (Tues/Fri 7-8am CST)
✅ 30 minutes of private coaching each month
✅ Complete course library
✅ WhatsApp community that has your back

Your transformation is better together.

Join Smalley Sojourners →

You can also text me at (303) 435-2630 or email [email protected].

What's been the hardest part of your healing journey? The slowness? The messiness? The loneliness? I'd love to hear from you in the comments.