Tov. Such a small word for something I spent most of my life bracing against.
For years, whenever something good showed up, whether it was a calm season, a stretch without crisis, or a moment where my body was not screaming, my first instinct was not gratitude. It was suspicion. I waited for the other shoe to drop, convinced that good was only the quiet before the next hit.
Peace felt dangerous. Joy felt temporary. Stillness felt like a trap.
It took a long time to realize that living this way was not protecting me. It was stealing from me. Every time something actually was good, I refused to let myself experience it.
Healing has taught me something softer. Good does not always arrive loud or dramatic. Sometimes it is subtle, barely noticeable. I just have to slow down enough to see it.
Good can look like choosing to stay present instead of running from your own thoughts. Like waking up without the pain consuming your whole body. Like taking a walk instead of hiding under the covers. Even look like the shoe finally dropping and realizing it fits better than the old pair.
Real good is not the absence of struggle. It is the moments of goodness that rise up inside the struggle, the ones steady enough to carry you forward.
And now, instead of waiting for good to disappear, I am learning to let myself feel it. To breathe in the small good, the quiet good, the unexpected good, the good that was always there even when I was too afraid to notice.