“But the point is… painting takes you back to when things felt normal. And right now, some part of your brain is telling you that’s a bad thing. That remembering what peace feels like is wrong. But it’s not.”
She looked at me for a long moment, like she was waiting to see if it landed, if it clicked. And it did. Maybe not all at once, but enough for something to stir in my chest.
“I want to paint again,” I admitted, voice barely a whisper. “But every time I sit down, I freeze. It’s like… I’m not allowed to feel okay.”
Lana nodded. “Yeah, because something in you thinks you have to prove how broken you are. That if you start to feel even a little bit whole again, it means what happened wasn’t that bad. But it was. And healing doesn’t erase that.”
My throat tightened. “But what if I’m never the same again?”
“You won’t be,” she said gently. “And you’re not supposed to be. But different doesn’t mean worse.”
I blinked at her, silent.
She gave me a small smile. “You’re allowed to evolve, okay? Pain changes us, yes. But so does strength. And love. And art.”
I swallowed hard.
“I think…” She hesitated, choosing her words carefully. “I think part of you is scared that if you paint, and it feels good, you’ll forget what happened. Or worse, you’ll start to feel like it didn’t matter. But it did. It always will. You just don’t have to live there forever.”
That was what it felt like. Like I’d built a house inside the worst moment of my life and couldn’t find the door out.
“I hate that it still controls me,” I whispered.
“It won’t forever. Not if you keep choosing to push through the fear. Not if you keep choosing you.”
Her words cracked something open in me. Not enough to break, but enough to let a little light in.
“I miss who I used to be,” I admitted, my mind wandering back to before November.
Lana reached over and tucked a strand of hair behind my ear, warm fingers brushing my temple. “Me too. But I’ve also learned to love the version of me that came after. The one who survived.”
I nodded, and a tear slipped down my cheek.
“You’re going to be okay, Cora,” she said softly. “Not overnight… but eventually. You just have to stop expecting yourself to be okay already.”
I looked down at my hands. They didn’t feel steady. But maybe they didn’t need to be. Not yet. Not always.
“I think I thought I was supposed to be okay by now,” I admitted. “Like the worst part happened, and now the rest should just be… better.”
Lana smiled softly, with something like understanding behind her eyes. “People love a happy ending. They love tying everything up in a neat little bow, like once you’ve survived the big thing, that’s it. Conflict over. Life fixed.”
She paused. “But that’s not real. Not really. Life doesn’t stop giving you peaks and valleys just because you’ve already been through one.”
I let her words sink in, feeling them ripple somewhere deep.
And I realised… that was it.
That was the truth no one wanted to talk about. ThatIdidn’t want to talk about. That healing wasn’t a finish line. That survival didn’t promise ease. That some chapters didn’t end with clarity, but with continuing.
It meant not needing to be okay forever—just being willing to keep going when I wasn’t.
I glanced over at her, a small smile tugging at the corner of my mouth. “Marcus was right about you,” I said quietly. “Youaresmart.”
Lana smirked, her expression softening. “And he was right about you, too.”
“Me?”
She nodded. “He said to not be surprised if you resist at first. Said you have good shields.”
