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So be gentle. Be patient. Be nurturing. And as the wound begins to close, whisper gratitude to your heart, for its courage. It takes bravery to heal, but the reward is eternal. Now, you will never again leave a wound untended. Now, you enter a new chapter—one where your emotions no longer rule you, but where you, at last, are the one in command.
Jealousy is raw, wounded. A divine messenger for the parts of us left behind—unattended, aching, bleeding in silence. And when you see another flourishing in those very places you neglected, your ego points downward, beneath the surface, urging you to tend to what has been abandoned. Not to feed the jealousy—it is but a symptom—but to descend, to unearth the wound itself, the place that festers, that boils, that surfaces in the form of envy.
And there you stand, stripped bare, jealousy gnawing at you, yet pitying yourself in the same breath. Now what? Now that the blood is everywhere, now that you know, deep down, that you feel untended, untended even by yourself. You grasp for words, for a way to soften the ache—to remind yourself that each soul follows its own path, that destiny guides each step, that your moment will come. And yes, it soothes. It quiets the storm for a while. But it does not change the truth—that a wound remains open, demanding care.
Shifting your perspective is a balm, a painkiller, numbing for a time. But soon, another wave rises, another jealousy attack, another internal war, another retreat, another desperate escape. And I know, I know how hard it is. How ugly. How excruciating it feels to face your own wounds. I know how it burns. But how can you heal if you will not first allow yourself to ache? How can the wound close if you refuse to cleanse it? You must drop everything and tend to it. Strip away the makeshift bandages. Let the sting of truth sear through you. Sit with it. Let it speak. Let it tell you how it came to be. Only then can you find the right medicine.
But you must stay. You must bear witness to its sorrow. You must listen—not with judgment, but with the tenderness of a mother nursing her child. That child inside you is weeping in pain. Let her weep. Hold her. Make her feel safe enough to wail in your arms. And when the sobs begin to slow, listen. Offer her an apology—for the neglect, for the silence, for leaving her untended. Now that the poison has drained, be gentle. Wrap the wound. But know that healing is not a single act; the bandages must be changed, the care renewed.
So be gentle. Be patient. Be nurturing. And as the wound begins to close, whisper gratitude to your heart, for its courage. It takes bravery to heal, but the reward is eternal. Now, you will never again leave a wound untended. Now, you enter a new chapter—one where your emotions no longer rule you, but where you, at last, are the one in command.
And there you stand, stripped bare, jealousy gnawing at you, yet pitying yourself in the same breath. Now what? Now that the blood is everywhere, now that you know, deep down, that you feel untended, untended even by yourself. You grasp for words, for a way to soften the ache—to remind yourself that each soul follows its own path, that destiny guides each step, that your moment will come. And yes, it soothes. It quiets the storm for a while. But it does not change the truth—that a wound remains open, demanding care.
Shifting your perspective is a balm, a painkiller, numbing for a time. But soon, another wave rises, another jealousy attack, another internal war, another retreat, another desperate escape. And I know, I know how hard it is. How ugly. How excruciating it feels to face your own wounds. I know how it burns. But how can you heal if you will not first allow yourself to ache? How can the wound close if you refuse to cleanse it? You must drop everything and tend to it. Strip away the makeshift bandages. Let the sting of truth sear through you. Sit with it. Let it speak. Let it tell you how it came to be. Only then can you find the right medicine.
But you must stay. You must bear witness to its sorrow. You must listen—not with judgment, but with the tenderness of a mother nursing her child. That child inside you is weeping in pain. Let her weep. Hold her. Make her feel safe enough to wail in your arms. And when the sobs begin to slow, listen. Offer her an apology—for the neglect, for the silence, for leaving her untended. Now that the poison has drained, be gentle. Wrap the wound. But know that healing is not a single act; the bandages must be changed, the care renewed.
So be gentle. Be patient. Be nurturing. And as the wound begins to close, whisper gratitude to your heart, for its courage. It takes bravery to heal, but the reward is eternal. Now, you will never again leave a wound untended. Now, you enter a new chapter—one where your emotions no longer rule you, but where you, at last, are the one in command.