The Quiet Work of Becoming Me
Journaling and Photos as Portals for Healing
In many regrettable ways, I’ve been passive with my life.
During the quiet of the pandemic, I often found myself alone—stuck in cycles of despair over all the ways I had let passivity guide my past. It was my way of protecting myself. Avoiding hard conversations. Not engaging with certain people. Not remembering the particularities of painful moments. I let memory fade so I could survive. But over time, that passivity calcified into disconnection.
It took a relationship ending—unexpectedly, via text—for me to admit I needed something different. Through the tears and anger, I realized I didn’t want a repeat of the same. I didn’t want to live passively anymore.
Facing the Photos
Since October 2020, I’ve been forcing myself to look at my photos. Yes—forcing. Let me say that again for myself: I had to force myself to engage with the images of my past.
What began as a simple plan to consolidate and sort through thousands of photos (11,066 to be exact) quickly turned into something deeper. I hated looking at them—not because some of them were unflattering, but because of the memories. Good grief, the memories. I had suppressed so much. Even acknowledging that I had been avoiding those memories was a big step.
But choosing to engage with my photos felt important. To think about each memory. To hold it in my gaze longer than a few seconds. To not look away in shame, regret, or sadness. To write down what I felt. There had been trauma—I knew this. So why wasn’t I facing it?
Fear.
It had always been easier (and more acceptable) to not engage. To be the helpful one. To keep moving. But healing requires presence. So I began my plan.
The Healing Practice
On days when I felt up to it, I’d set a timer for 30 minutes and scroll through my photos—by date, by location, by person, by object. Whatever came up, I let myself feel it: shock, guilt, anger, regret, sadness, joy, love, hope.
And then I wrote.
Even when it felt silly. Even when my feelings conflicted. Because they were mine. And from those feelings, I could begin to understand what I needed.
I optimistically labeled my plan My Healing Journey, and it has healed me in ways I never imagined I needed. It will continue to heal me—but only if I keep choosing to engage. And therein lies the rub: even 30 minutes of this work is hard.
Here’s a screenshot of what comes up when I search my iCloud photos by date:
Reaching Out, Reaching Back
Eventually, I began reaching out to family and friends about our shared past. That part was even harder.
Sometimes it felt good—reconnecting with someone who cares for you can be easy. But other times, it was the worst kind of vulnerability. Reaching out after years of silence. Receiving silence in return. Or worse, receiving rejection.
Oof.
And yet, somewhere along the way, I realized the whole truth of it:
This was never really about the photos or the people. This was about me.
The long, unglamorous work of engaging with myself.
I had spent so many years framing my past as a series of mistakes. But when I chose to actively engage, I began reframing those moments as lessons. I saw how, if I stayed passive, I would keep repeating the same painful cycles.
Becoming Me
Through this process—of revisiting photos and having hard conversations—I finally found my way back to the present.
I began to feel more here.
More me.
More comfortable in my own skin.
I forgave myself for who I was in those photos—for the version of me who did what she had to in order to survive. That version was doing the best she could. And she carried me here.
It only took a pandemic, but in the quiet of it, I began the journey back to myself.
I’m so thankful.
So very grateful to simply be me.
Being true to myself has taken hard work. Passivity is easier—but I’m not here for easy. I’m here to live. I’m here to grow. And that means choosing to engage, even when it’s hard.
There’s more work ahead, and that’s okay.
This is my life’s work: to learn, to grow, and to become better versions of myself—for me, and for the people I love.
Every single day, every single hour, we get to choose.
We can be passive.
Or we can be active in our lives.
In the quiet of the pandemic, I began choosing to engage.
And I will keep choosing.
✨ What about you?
Have you ever avoided photos or memories from your past?
What would it mean to look again—not to judge, but to witness?
I’d love to hear your story, if you feel moved to share. We’re on this life journey both individually and together.
With care,
Nan