#healing and growing and learning is not a linear process and any setbacks are part of it all. they are not a hindrance or obstacle.

[dumbdomb]

hi, i am not a licensed professional, but what do you think this post is about??

dilating is not some horrible torture process, unless you want it to be... 👀

you may have sensual goals for your body, but it's always important to set a goal in your mind first: don't try to cross a finish line. begin with no expectations. learn how to be intimate, vulnerable, and sensual with your body in a nonsexual way. add dilating to the other things you like, and try it in ways that make you feel happy and comfortable. focus on the positives from what you learn and experience, rather than trying to be brave or accomplish something.

"it won't fit" and "that's okay, i'll make it fit" gets the smallest dilator and lube to begin working up to bigger sizes in a comfortable way that will have you moaning and edging and cumming until you're begging to be filled and pounded with something even bigger than what we began with. "it won’t fit" to "i want more"

[aliceslantern]

Beyond this Existence: New Life, short 3--Insomnia

Recovery is a tedious, nonlinear process. Demyx, Ienzo, and the others living in Radiant Garden's castle have to learn to come to terms with their pasts and their memories, learn to grow, and begin to understand what, exactly, it means to be human. While there is unexpected joy in this, there is also unexpected sorrow. A series of oneshots set after Beyond this Existence.

Current short: Insomnia. Ienzo has trouble sleeping.

Read it on FF.net/on AO3

----

Ienzo could not stop his eyes from fluttering shut. Demyx’s cheerful, lively chatter seemed to go in one ear and out the other, leaving him with bits and fragments.

“--you would not believe what the guy had done, somehow got the handle in his eye . We had to sedate him but he was still freaking out--”

“--the thing is after that, he could still see--”

“--And then after that he used the same pan, the same fucking pan, to make noodles for us as a thank you. I mean, of course he washed it, but it’s just wild--”

The chatter faded to a dull hum, and for a second there was no sound, nothing at all. His head snapped up. Demyx had pursed his lips in exasperation. “You know,” he said, “You could have told me to shut up, instead of letting me literally bore you to sleep.”

Ienzo rubbed his eyes. They were hot, and raw. “It’s not that,” he said. “I’m simply very tired.”

“Long day?” he asked.

“Not quite.” A little flutter of anxiety made him shiver. “I think I may be catching cold.”

“Oh, yeah, something’s really going around. I wouldn’t be surprised.” Demyx reached over and touched Ienzo’s forehead. Ienzo, in his exhaustion, realized how stupid it was to lie about sickness when he had a healer sitting right across from him. “That’s weird. I don’t feel anything off. You want me to get you one of the cures anyway?”

Ienzo hesitated. Thinking seemed physically difficult. He could not quite string the right words together. “I likely just need some rest.”

“So go get some sleep, babe. You don’t have anything to do this afternoon, right?”

He almost told Demyx. He should’ve. It was a hard thing to admit. Still harder when his mind felt so foggy. “Well--I told Ansem that I would help him debug that new operating system--”

“He’s a big boy. I’m sure he’ll be fine.” His eyes were so soft, crinkling slightly at the corners, as they always did when he was concerned. “Do you want some tea or something? It might make you feel bet--”

“I am fine.” The words came out sharply.

Demyx frowned. “If you insist,” he muttered.

Ienzo sighed. “I apologize. I suppose I’m a bit grouchy.”

He crossed his arms. “I probably need a nap too. I was using magic all morning.” He tugged at the sleeves of his shirt. “So I guess I’ll catch you later?”

Ienzo nodded, and watched him leave. This was no good. He had to try again. How long had it been exactly since he’d last slept? It was hard to tell. Too long.

He crossed back over to his bedroom. He was starting to detest this space, its claustrophobia, the drafty window. Ienzo settled himself in bed, another shudder of anxiety breaking the ease of stillness. He shut his eyes. Counted to ten, then twenty, then a hundred, trying to soften his muscles. The bed was comfortable. There was nothing wrong with the bed.

The fact that it was the middle of the day made no difference. The same thing happened at night. It seemed as though every night that passed since the coma made sleep a more distant memory. There was also the fact that he’d become accustomed to sharing the space, and being held, and Demyx’s odd training schedule meant he was now often alone at night. He wasn’t used to dependence, and certainly didn’t like how it felt. Ienzo had been so self-sufficient for so long, and this felt like an even bigger setback.

He drew the second pillow into his arms, as though that might calm the achy anxiety brewing in his stomach. Tried to breathe.

Progress was not linear. He’d hoped to be the exception to that rule; after all, he’d slipped through the cracks so many times, what was one more?

He wanted sleep. Needed sleep. His body ached for it. It was entirely psychological, he knew; if he didn’t stress so much about it, likely it would come more easily. But stress was a constant of this life, always pulling him tauter still, even in the rare moments of comfort.

Okay, so, maybe he didn’t need sleep, maybe it was fine enough just resting and breathing, and breathing and resting. It was going to be fine.

He was fine.

----

It had grown dark outside. Ienzo was still, horribly, conscious. Wasn’t there something wrong with him? Why was he allowing himself to get so worked up about this? Why was he wasting so much time? He should be helping Ansem.

He was a touch dizzy when he got up. How he hated having to be corporeal, how finicky and needy the body was, all the time. He went into the bathroom and washed his face, holding the cool cloth over his eyes for a long moment. They ached.

Ansem was, predictably, still hard at work. He was, as far as Ienzo knew, balancing several projects at once, but he was really most invested in anything involving data, especially the fine line between reality and code itself. The new operating system was meant to house code in a more stable manner that was less stressful on their machines. Gummi blocks were always the best replacement parts and lasted far longer than any metal or plastic, but they were hard to come by, so they had to preserve what they had for as long as possible.

“Hello, Ienzo,” Ansem said cheerfully. “Demyx said you were resting. I didn’t want to disturb you.”

Of course he’d said something. Ienzo bit his lip. Demyx had become almost uncomfortably protective of his health, but how could Ienzo blame him? How many times had he escaped death now, exactly? (Best not to dwell on that.) “Made any progress?” He flinched at the poor structure of his speech.

“It’s coming along fairly well, all things considered. A couple of minor glitches here and there, but that’s to be anticipated. I believe soon we can start converting over all of our files. Perhaps it might be possible to make it compatible with the gummiphone too, so one can access things on the go. Our hardware isn’t yet necessarily up to par yet but I’m hoping that--”

A finger of pain stabbed him behind the eyes. Ienzo pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Are you alright?” Ansem asked.

“Bit of a headache.” He forced a smile. “Would you mind repeating that?”

Ansem turned slightly in his chair. “If you are unwell, you shouldn’t strain yourself.”

“I am fine,” he reasserted.

“Ienzo, forgive me, but I had raised you to believe in honesty.”

He felt the blood rush to his face, along with a bitterness. “You weren’t around long, though, were you?”

Ansem’s complexion, in the blue light of the screen, was ashen.

Ienzo swallowed and touched his throat. “Master, I--”

“No. You’re correct in that regard.”

The silence had a weight to it.

“Ienzo. You’re allowed to be angry with me.”

“It wasn’t as if you chose to be thrown into the Realm of Darkness.”

“Heavens, no. But you were told something else entirely, something which you then internalized for months on end--years. Lies are much harder to erase than the truth.” Ansem stood and placed his hands on Ienzo’s shoulders. “I was a fool, a coward. Rather than taking responsibility for my actions, I instead became embittered and sought revenge. You paid the price for my poor decisions.” His rust-colored eyes bore into Ienzo’s, unnervingly. “How is it you feel, truly?”

“I feel…” His heart was racing. “I feel so…” Allowing himself to be vulnerable in front of Ansem was a new kind of pain, but in his exhaustion he didn’t have the strength to fight off these thoughts. “I am angry. At you. At myself. At everything. I thought that once I laid it all to rest I would feel at peace but I--”

His gaze was so calm. Ienzo could not bear to look at him.

“I cannot sleep,” he said. He hugged himself tightly. “If not for the nightmares.”

“What is it you dream about?” Ansem asked gently.

“Oh, any number of unpleasant things.” There was something like pressure rising within him, and he wondered if he might be sick. “The day they told me you’d gone mad. When they cut me down. Death, destruction, hellfire… these.” He brushed his hand over his shoulder, and the scars covered by his shirt. Ienzo was aware he was sounding a little unhinged. “I feel like I’m losing my mind. I’m losing my self. ” A razor-sharp pain stuck in his throat. He touched it. The lump forming there seemed to have stopped the torrent of words.

“You are not losing ,” Ansem said. “You are growing, and healing. Processing this trauma is a sign that you’ve stopped protecting yourself from others. Which, believe it or not, is a strength.”

Heat built behind his eyes. “I’ve told Demyx more or less the same,” he mumbled. “Why don’t I believe it?”

“Knowing and feeling are entirely separate.”

Ienzo took a deep breath. His chest spasmed a little with a sob. He was not going to get out of here with his dignity intact.

“You’ve had to rely on yourself for far too long,” Ansem said softly. “I hope that will change.”

He felt the first tears break free. He was simply too tired to fight anymore. “I’m sorry,” he said. “I’m so--”

Ansem drew Ienzo gently into his arms. Ienzo was a trembling mess. It took a concerted effort to allow himself to cry freely and be comforted, though once he did it seemed like he couldn’t stop. This was only worsened by the fact that Ansem smelled exactly like he remembered, like powder and coffee and oranges. Ansem didn’t say anything, and merely rubbed Ienzo’s back in slow circles until the sobs subsided.

The horrible tension of it all had eased, leaving him drained and humiliated. He swiped at his face.

“Come,” Ansem said. “I’ll make you some tea. You’ve had a long day.”

That night, even though he lay in bed alone, he slept deeply, and without dreams.

[sleepless-streetss]

This is the part no one ever tells you about: even if you have supposedly let go, if you’re convinced that you’ve fully moved on, there can still be incidents that will feel like a blow to your chest. Scenarios you couldn’t have imagined in your wildest dreams that will make you lose faith in the process of healing. Some days will be difficult. Our scars will itch, our skin will stretch over our bones to the point of  breaking and it will all seem hopeless. And these difficult days might not even happen at the start of your journey. They can still happen after things have been okay for months. For years. Sometimes a mere inconvenience is enough to tear our skin back open, to make us bleed again. A brush against your back from the person you love can send you spiraling back into the oblivion of fear. Whatever takes us back to that bad place doesn't have to be something that feels significant. It can be as small as stumbling over a photo you were sure you’d thrown away while clearing out your closet. That dress you should have burned but you keep hidden in the closet as evidence that what happened to you was not a nightmare. That it was real. Or overhearing a single word in a conversation that reminds you of the time you couldn't see past the dark thoughts in your head. Road ditches. Country roads. Driving while the sun is setting alone. All of these all small. All of these have the ability to make me really, really sad. And this thing that felt so small might be enough to transport you back to that time that was full of hurt, full of grief. Times when you felt like giving up was easier than staying alive. Because it was just too fucking hard to stay awake any longer in this world. Please know that healing isn’t linear. There is no straight line from beginning to end. There will be setbacks. There will be days when you think you can’t do it. When you don't see the point in fighting anymore. Let's stop expecting other people to have their shit together after a certain amount of time has passed. Stop expecting it of yourself. I’ve stopped expecting every day to be fantastic, but I have started to wake up every day thankful to learn something from the bad days. To move forward in a positive manner. Because the truth is none of us really have their shit together, or have been at this point in life often enough that we understand. I was diagnosed with ptsd, severe depression, and high functioning anxiety in february of 2020 and that in itself has been a long journey to figure out how to handle, but every day is a great day to learn how to love myself. I pretended my diagnosis didn’t exist for a while. This past summer I learned the only way to the other side is to walk straight through hell and yes, it’s been hard, but man have I learned lessons. I still haven’t told anyone, and honestly, I don’t think I ever will. It’s a personal journey and I’m teaching myself. How to care for myself. How to self soothe, how to let other people in without allowing my triggers to make them feel as if they’ve done something to hurt me.

It hasn’t been easy. But here I am. Learning. Growing. My past is not my present and although it makes me incredibly sad to think about the 17 year old girl I was, I am burying her and honoring the person she was. She did the best that she could and she was a survivor. But I am no longer that girl. Every day is a new day that I am grateful for, now. I didn’t think I’d be alive today, I almost wasn’t, but here I am. A year ago I didn’t want to be and a little over that I almost succeeded. I missed someone so much I seriously considered joining him, but I am so glad God didn’t let me. Today in itself, is enough for me. We might all have different triggers, have all been through different situations, but in the end we all know one thing: healing is not easy. It takes time, no matter how much. It takes space. So forgive others for needing more time. And forgive yourself, if right now you are not exactly who you want to be and where you want to be. You will get there as long as you keep moving forward. One foot in front of the other, whoever you are and wherever you are reading this; I am proud of you for that.

Please remember: there will be setbacks. And that's okay. Keep moving forward. I’ll walk with you if you ever need someone to lean on. You are worth it. You matter. You deserve to be here. You are loved. These are the things I would have wanted to hear a year ago but didn’t, and I just want whoever is reading this to know that the world would not be the same without you. People would miss you. Many would grieve you. You make a difference whether you realize that or not. Keep walking.

On a personal note: Rest In Peace T, leaving Hershey kisses on your grave just isn’t the same as handing them to you in person. I miss you. Every single day. You would think it gets easier, it doesn’t. The world could really use your laugh right now, and I could really use a hug. The last time I got to see you, you said you’d always be with me and to look for you in lily flowers and Hershey chocolate. Every time I see either, I smile and think of you. The sweetest soul I ever knew lost, but heaven gained a really beautiful angel and although I’m sad today, I know you’re no longer in pain. You lost your battle, but I will win mine for you.

[dust2dust34]

Pieces of Always: May 2034 (FICoN ‘verse)

Life continues after Forever is Composed of Nows.

by @so-caffeinated​ and @dust2dust34​

Summary: Ongoing non-linear collection of family moments for the Queens. (You do not need to have read FiCoN to enjoy this, but it will spoil the end. Please see the first installment for additional author notes. Thank you @jsevick​ and @alizziebyanyothername​ for the amazing beta!)

A/N: Please see the first chapter for an important Author’s Note.

A/N: As of right now, I am taking more of a beta-like role because I’m having serious concentration issues with my other fics. The effervescent @so-caffeinated has been taking the drafting lead for the last few weeks and she’s been kicking all the ass, so please go send her your love!

(read on AO3)

May 2034 - With A Vengeance

“Oliver!”

Felicity shuts the heavy drapes to block out the afternoon sun, leaving nothing but the dim glow of the television and the distant illumination from the stairwell. She checks the edges, getting an eyeful of a sharp sunray. With a quiet, “Gah,” she cuts off the last remnants of sun trying to sneak through before turning back to the living room.

She blinks, making out little more than the outlines of her kids as they pile on the sofa.

It’s perfect for family movie time.

They’re just missing one key element.

Felicity angles her head towards the stairs, raising her voice louder as she yells, “Oliver!” again. Where is he up there, or did he crawl into the far recesses of Jules’ room?

“Coming!” her husband calls back. His voice is tiny where it wafts from the top floor. His footfalls thud on the stairs, getting louder as he gets closer.

Felicity catches a glimpse of him, but he doesn’t head to the family room, continuing down the stairs to the floor below. “Wrong way, honey,” she calls after him as she grabs the remote. She vaguely sees him waving his hand at her before she rounds the sofa to join the kids. Her eyes are still adjusting to the low-light, so she misses Nate grabbing some of Jules’ popcorn. It’s too late to warn him, though - he’s already got it shoved in his mouth by the time the movement registers.

He should really know better by now. He’s eleven and he’s been burned before.

“Oh my god,” Nate says, pulling a face and scrambling for a glass of the lemonade Felicity had brought up. “What did you do to that popcorn?”

“Serves you right for stealing some,” Jules replies, all nonchalance as she pulls the bowl closer to herself while Nate takes a few heavy gulps. “Get your own.”

“It’s cayenne pepper,” Ellie informs him, grabbing a kernel from her own bowl where it’s perched precariously on her knees and popping it into her mouth. “And mine’s covered in blue cheese, so don’t even think about it.”

“Why would you even do that to popcorn?” Nate demands.

“Says the boy who insists on caramel corn?” a deep voice adds. Oliver appears a second later, carrying two bowls of popcorn. He passes one to Nate who promptly takes a handful and shoves it in his mouth in an attempt to drown out the wicked spiciness of his sister’s cayenne-doused snack.

Felicity wonders if it even tastes sweet after the lemonade he just inhaled.

Oliver crosses over to her, handing her a bowl of normal buttered popcorn - it’s classic - with a soft, “Here.”

Felicity takes the bowl from her husband with a grateful smile. “Any word from William?”

“He’ll be by later,” Oliver replies, his now-empty hands finding her hips with practiced ease. He gives her a quick kiss before adding, “He was on shift until this morning. He wanted to take a nap before he came by.”

“I thought he didn’t work yesterday,” Felicity says as Oliver sits down in the oversized side chair. She moves to plop down on the floor - she’s not about to deal with squeezing into the little space left on the sofa - but her husband has other ideas. Oliver grabs her hips again and pulls her back onto his lap without warning. Felicity yelps in surprise - “Oliver!” - nearly upending the bowl, but his hold on her is solid as he cuddles her close. “You’re going to make me spill the popcorn!”

Oliver’s grin is blinding as he smiles up at her. She rolls her eyes, settling in as he grabs a few pieces of said almost-spilled popcorn. He pops them into his mouth before gripping her chin, pulling her lips to his. His fingers are warms and his lips are buttery and the combination makes her melt. Felicity sighs, savoring the press of his mouth to hers, and presses closer, her tongue darting out to taste just a little bit more.

“Ugh,” Nate says, wrinkling his nose. “You’re gonna make me gag on my popcorn.”

Jules snorts. “So, that’s something to add to the list of things you should have grown to expect by now, then, right?” Felicity can’t see her oldest clearly in the low light, but she has no doubt her daughter’s raising a speculative eyebrow at the boy.

“He changed his schedule,” Oliver tells Felicity, drawing her attention back to him as he answers her earlier question. “One of his roommates worked a rough day earlier in the week. Bad crash. They lost a kid the same age as the guy’s little sister. Will offered to trade shifts and give him a few extra days off. It sounded like he needed it.”

Felicity’s heart sinks at that, a wash of sympathy running through her. “Will’s okay though?” she asks.

“Yeah,” Oliver confirms, kissing her temple. “He wasn’t even working that day.”

The harshness of reality is too clear for all of her children. It’s been such a struggle at times to balance doing what’s right - what’s necessary - while mitigating the occasional awfulness of reality for their kids. They haven’t done nearly as well as she would have liked. When she looks back, she sees so many mistakes they’ve made over the years, so many things she’d do differently, situations she’d avoid entirely if she could. But hindsight is 20/20 and life is a learning process. Or so she tells herself. Logic and her desire to make the world a better place for her kids at nearly any cost don’t always go hand-in-hand.

Still, all-in-all, they’ve raised four amazing children.

Will’s a hero in his own right, these days. It’s more of an everyday kind of way than his father, but no less important. She’s loved that boy since the day she met him, but she’s not sure she’s ever been as proud of him as she was the day he came home from a camping trip and told her he’d decided to be a firefighter. He’s a good boy, her stepson. A good man - he is 26. The sense of accomplishment she gets out of knowing she’s had a part in helping him grow to be the amazing person he’s become is no less than what she feels for any of the children she bore herself.

“Are we watching this movie or what?” Ellie asks, tossing her a look.

“What?” Oliver deadpans.

Felicity smacks him on the chest as Jules groans, throwing a piece of popcorn at her father, payback for the horrid joke. Ellie snickers and Nate scoffs, but Oliver just catches the popcorn and eats it. He doesn’t blink at the cayenne, sharing the same affinity for spice as his daughter.

This is exactly why she’d lobbied for movie time, why she keeps pushing for dinners with all of them, and family outings that have nothing to do with politics or business or vigilantism.

After everything that happened on that earth-shattering day two years ago, after all the setbacks they’d suffered with Jules and the problems that’d started with Ellie because of it, Felicity’s insisted more and more that they need to spend time together. All six of them. They need this. She needs this. She needs Jules to regain that sense of confidence she’d finally grown into. She needs Ellie to see there’s more to the world than just fighting the monsters that lurk in the shadows. She needs Nate to see his sisters are whole and safe. Scars from that day linger - she glances at the silvery line running down Ellie’s neck; some are more visible than others - but they’re healing.

She won’t allow them not to.

“Come on!” Ellie says, a cheer that Nate adds to.

“All right, all right,” Oliver says. He takes the remote from Felicity’s hand and cues up the movie, oblivious to her inner monologue.

It’s an old movie, but she thinks the kids will like it, despite its age.

They’re certainly settled in for the long haul.

Jules is spread out like she owns the entire sofa, one arm draped across the back while her other hand scratches at Buster’s head where he sits dutifully at her feet, graying muzzle resting on her knee. Nate’s on the other end, feet folded beneath himself, back ramrod straight as he watches the screen with a comical amount of seriousness etched into his features. Ellie’s between them, her feet wedged under her brother’s thigh. She takes a deep breath, snuggling deeper into the sofa before leaning her head against her sister’s shoulder.

After a second, Jules leans back, resting her cheek on Ellie’s head.

Tears burn Felicity’s eyes. They’re closer now, her girls. Thank God. It had been so bad there for a while. Last fall had been… Her lungs tighten. She doesn’t even want to think about it now. And she doesn’t have to - not in a way that lingers, anyhow - because it’s not true anymore.

Ellie and Jules are maybe the closest they’ve ever been right now.

Felicity wonders if anyone would notice her getting up to take a picture.

“Your feet are like icicles, Ellie,” Nate protests, pushing at his sister’s legs. She just digs her toes in more, sticking her tongue out at Nate as she intentionally annoys her little brother. “Ellie!” he whines.

Felicity sits up to tell Ellie to keep her feet to herself, but she doesn’t have to.

“Hush it and eat your popcorn,” Jules interrupts. “You’re missing the movie.” Her eyes don’t waver from the screen, clearly expecting Nate to listen, and he does. With a resigned sigh, they all settle in to watch the movie.

It doesn’t last long.

“Why are we even watching this?” Nate asks. “Isn’t this ancient? It’s in 2-D.”

“The reboot comes out in, like, a week,” Ellie tells him.

“Plus, it’ll be fun to watch Dad rub his fingers together in frustration throughout the whole thing,” Jules notes in a singsong voice, dragging out the word ‘whole’ as she smiles at her father.

She’s not wrong.

“Have you seen this?” Felicity asks her oldest.

“No,” Jules replies. “It’s older than hell.”

“Jules,” Oliver warns, his voice heavy, but Jules keeps going.

“But I did see the commercials for the new one and no way is Dad gonna cope with some actor shooting a bow and arrow like that.”

“They’re physically impossible shots,” Oliver interjects, unable to resist. The frustration in his voice is very real and more than a little funny. “How am I supposed to take that seriously? Is a little authenticity too much to ask for?”

“Honey,” Felicity says, “it’s a movie about two human science experiments, a spy, a billionaire in a flying suit, an archer and an alien god fighting the alien god’s evil brother and his army for the fate of the world.” She blinks up at her husband. “You’re worried about authenticity?”

“You say that like none of those things are possible,” he replies, raising his eyebrows as he looks down at her. “We both know better.”

“Yeah,” Felicity hedges, waving at the screen, “but none of them were that pretty. That right there screams ‘entertainment’ more than documentary.”

Oliver levels her with a dry look, to which she smiles in return.

“I like how we watch a movie and spend the entire time talking about it,” Jules says, twisting one of her sister’s curls around her finger.

“We’re more fun,” Ellie replies, resting her chin on her sister’s shoulder and looking up at her.

“With colder feet,” Nate adds, not looking away from the television. Ellie snickers and wiggles her toes. Nate pulls a sour look, earning a broad, toothy smile from Jules.

It’d be so easy to tell them to be quiet and watch the movie, but Felicity doesn’t dare, and neither does Oliver. Her husband rubs his hand up and down her back, the tips of his fingers dancing against her arm, and she knows he’s watching their kids and not the movie as he eats their popcorn.

There’s a peace in this easygoing moment that they know better than to take for granted. They’ve fought for this, refused to fail their family day in and day out for years. It hasn’t always been easy, but it has always, always been worth it.

Oliver sighs against her hair, pressing a kiss to the top of her head. It’s contentment he’s breathing out against her, a bone-deep a sense of calm and fulfillment he would never have expected to find in his life, if asked twenty years ago. But they are each other’s allies in every sense of the word, a team in all the ways that matter, and they have fought - continue to fight - for each other, for their family and for their city.

Because it’s worth it.

They can’t win every battle, though, something that’s sharply evident when Oliver tenses up and holds her more tightly. On screen, a complex of buildings the size of a small town gets swallowed by the earth. It’s far too reminiscent of the Undertaking and Felicity knows he’s bracing himself against those memories. They don’t haunt him as frequently as they used to, but their failures - especially that one - still sit heavily on Oliver’s shoulders.

Felicity splays her hand over his chest, rubbing a small comforting circle over his heart. It soothes him, just enough for him to relax, to turn into her, to let her share the burden that won’t ever fully go away.

She’d expected him to suggest they name Nate after Tommy, when their son had been born. They weren’t beholden to the names the other timeline’s version of themselves had chosen for their kids, after all. But when their son had come into the world, when Oliver had cradled the newborn in his arms for the first time, the baby blinking up at him with surprising alertness, Oliver had greeted him with a soft, “Hey there, Nate. How’s my little man?”

And just like that he’d been Nate.

She’d been the one to insist his middle name be Thomas.

“Yeah. Yeah, that’s perfect.”

One of her favorite memories is of her son - not even an hour old and completely dwarfed in the security of his father’s arms - as Oliver looked down at him with teary-eyed joy. As clear as it is in her mind’s eye, watching her not-quite-teenage son dodge a piece of popcorn thrown by one of his sisters, it feels like forever ago.

He’s gotten so big.

They all have.

Never is that more evident than when Ellie suddenly shifts uncomfortably. She pulls away from her siblings, chewing her lip as she glances bashfully toward the television. For a second, Felicity doesn’t get it. She looks at the screen with a furrowed brow, but then it clicks - for both Felicity and Jules.

“So, she’s cute, huh?” Jules asks, elbowing her sister. It’s good-natured, or it’s meant to be. But even if Felicity hadn’t seen her middle child stiffen, her face blazing red even in the dim light as she stares down at her knees, Felicity knows she’s still uncomfortable about being called out on being attracted to anyone.

As Ellie shrugs a little, Felicity says warningly, “Julie.”

“What?” Jules asks, completely oblivious. Or maybe willful ignorance is more accurate. Her approach to everything lately seems to be making herself as bold and brash as possible, spoiling for a fight should anyone call her out. Felicity can’t even imagine her blushing and avoiding eye contact. “She’s not wrong. Natasha is, like, super hot.”

“She’s a good fighter,” Ellie mumbles, not looking at anyone.

“She is,” Oliver chimes in, casting Jules a weighty look.

Jules might think she gets what’s going on with Ellie, she might even think she’s being supportive, but she doesn’t really get that Ellie isn’t comfortable talking about this yet. She’s never walked in Ellie’s shoes, never grappled with her own sexuality, and the sisters are very different people with vastly different ways of dealing with their own discomfort.

The nineteen-year-old rolls her eyes and opens her mouth to say something - Felicity’s ready to cut her off - but another presence in the room quickly shifts the dynamics.

William steps up behind the sofa, saying, “I’d kinda love to see her fight Big Sara, myself,” as he tugs on Jules’ dark-haired ponytail, making the girl yelp.

“Jerk!” she proclaims affectionately, slapping at his hand as her dog gets up and rounds the sofa to greet Will. He whines and butts his greying muzzle against the man’s hand.

“Glad to see you, too, kid,” Will counters Jules as he scratches the dog’s chin. Jules huffs in feigned annoyance at the name as Will drops a kiss on the top of Ellie’s head and claps Nate on the shoulder before looking at his stepmom. “Felicity, I tossed some laundry in the washer. I hope that’s okay.”

“Of course,” Felicity replies. She’s always loved this kid - he’s such an easy person to love - but she’s even more appreciative of him when he so easily and single-handedly reroutes Jules.

The smile he gives her is all warmth and gratitude - it’s so Will - and it makes Felicity smile in return as he says, “Thanks.” And then, before anyone can protest, he hops over the back of the sofa and squeezes in between Ellie and Nate, much to the chagrin of his younger siblings. Will’s not too tall, but he’s still a grown man and he’s both well-muscled and stocky. It’s a very full sofa, and while everyone grouses, none of them are really complaining. “Our laundry room was kind of overwhelmed. Elliot was procrastinating as always and then Javi and I were both on last night working that fire at the docks. Everything reeks of smoke back home.”

“I was out there, too,” Oliver tells him, ignoring the movie in favor of his oldest son. “On the wharf.”

“I didn’t see you, but I thought you might have been,” Will replies. “After we realized it was a drug lab that went up in smoke, it seemed very much up your alley. You get the guy?”

“Yeah.” Oliver nods. “Dropped him off with SCPD. They’ve got more than enough evidence to lock him up for ten-to-twenty, at least.”

“Good,” Will says, his voice lowering, his face becoming more grave as he stares blindly at the television. Felicity wonders just how bad the fire had been. It’s a rare day that Will isn’t an easy-going jokester. But she doesn’t ask about it, not right now, not with the other kids here and Will doesn’t immediately volunteer anything.

Jules, on the other hand, does not have the same approach as her mother.

“Why?” she asks, concern furrowing her brow. “What happened?”

“It’s…” Will falters, giving a strained half-smile as he shakes his head. “Tessa had a beam fall on her.”

Oliver sits up taller. “Is she okay?”

“She will be,” Will confirms. “Broken leg and some second-degree burns on her left arm. I’m gonna run by the hospital later and babysit her twins to give her husband a break.”

“Need any help?” Ellie offers immediately.

“Sure,” Will agrees, tugging his little sister closer. “You can change the diapers.”

“Ugh,” Ellie says, wrinkling her nose, but she doesn’t change her mind. “Fine. But you get to clean the spit-up.”

“Deal,” Will proclaims, grabbing her hand and shaking it firmly.

Felicity sort of forgets they’re watching a movie, despite how loud it is, until Nate speaks up.

“I really like this Pepper person,” he says. “But I don’t understand why she’s with Tony. He’s kind of a jerk.”

“You’d probably rather she was dating Coulson,” Jules declares, offering some popcorn to Will. He knows better, though, stealing some of Nate’s instead.

“Coulson is the best character in this movie so far,” Nate insists. And, oh, her little boy would think that, wouldn’t he? “He has more sense than everyone else put together and he’s trying to do the right thing. I like him.”

“Of course you like him,” Jules scoffs. “You basically are him.”

“I’m going to take that as a compliment,” Nate informs her, holding his chin up in quiet defiance.

“Suit yourself,” Jules says, shrugging one shoulder.

“Look, Coulson is great and all, but nobody beats Captain America,” Ellie announces, looking back and forth between her siblings.

“Remind me not to show her the sequels,” Oliver mutters in Felicity’s ear, his fingers stroking along her forearm as she leans her head against his chest. She’s not watching the movie. Not really. Her kids are far more interesting.

“He fights with a shield,” Jules tells Ellie. “Like, points for how he throws it and all, but that’s a terrible weapon.”

“It’s protective,” Ellie counters. “Because that’s who he is. He’s there to protect people.”

“Sometimes the best defense is a good offense,” Jules replies. “And, sorry, but a shield is the worst weapon ever.”

“It’s not the weapon that matters,” Oliver pipes up. “It’s the person fighting with it. Anything can be a weapon if you wield it right.”

Jules sighs. She can be so dramatic sometimes… most of the time. “Obviously. But, come on, Dad, you can’t tell me a shield beats guns or a bow and arrow or actual lasers that you shoot out of your hands.”  

“You would side with Iron Man,” Ellie proclaims, shaking her head at Jules.

“Uh, cause he’s badass,” Jules tells her. “He flies and shoots lasers. Tell me again how a shield compares to that.”

“Well, I like the shield,” Ellie declares. “I think it’s awesome. And incredibly useful when it reflects laser beams back at people who underestimate it.”

Jules plasters on a smile, staring at her sister. “You’re infuriating.”

“I aim to please,” Ellie counters with an identical grin.

Nate breaks through the moment when he looks up at Will and asks, “Which one’s your favorite?”

“I’m not sure,” Will muses. “Do I have to have a favorite?”

“Yes,” Jules says at the same moment that Ellie says, “No.”

Will chuckles. After a moment, he says, “I like them when they’re a team. I think they bring out the best in each other.”

It’s an answer that makes her husband damn near preen with pride.There’s a grudging agreement between the kids after that, even if Jules watches Will like she’s wary of his answer.

“Definitely not showing them the sequels,” Oliver mutters into her ear.

Felicity nods. “Definitely not,” she whispers back. If what the kids are getting from this is ‘yay teamwork,’ the next in the series is a terrible idea.

But, that’s not really what has Felicity’s focus at the moment.

No, that’s Jules.

Because, in years past, Felicity is well aware that it isn’t Iron Man her oldest would have sympathized with. No, it would have been Loki. That resentment, that bitterness and sense of displacement - earned or not - would have hit home with her. But now she doesn’t even seem to register the similarities.

And, thank God for that.

“Why do the villains always try and talk people to death?” Jules asks as Loki tries to subjugate a crowd on the screen. “Do they all love the sounds of their own voices?”

“Yes,” Oliver confirms. “Always. It’s ego.”

“Well, that’s convenient for us,” Ellie replies absently as she watches the show.

Us.

The word sends a shiver up Felicity’s spine, one Oliver clearly feels because he holds her a little tighter.

Ever since what the girls went through two years ago, Ellie’s pushed so hard to grow up faster, to be a part of the team and take up the mantle of a vigilante. As a mother, that makes Felicity equal parts terrified and proud. She’s always known that one day her little Ellie-bug would join the family business, take a place at her father’s side - or even replace him - protecting the city. But she’s barely sixteen and there’s such a thing as trying to grow up way too fast. She’s rushing through the stages of her life that she ought to be savoring. And telling her daughter to slow down, to take a breath and give it time, has done no good at all.

It keeps Felicity up at night, makes her worry in ways she never has for her middle child before.

Ellie had been such an easy kid for so long. In some ways, she still is. She’s kind, smart, thoughtful, and generally happy. But then there’s also this - a single-minded drive to mold herself into the hero she thinks she’s fated to be. That’s always been there with Ellie, to a point. But since the kidnapping, since everything turned upside down… Well, her dedication has grown tenfold and it slices through Felicity’s heart with a fresh sense of terror.

“Well, hello there,” Jules says sharply, leaning forward and eyeing the television with way too much interest all of a sudden.

Felicity glances at the screen to find they’ve hit Thor’s arrival. She looks back to her oldest who is rather blatantly checking out the movie’s superhero god.

“You’re ridiculous,” Will tells her, flicking her ear.

Jules bats his hand away without looking. “He’s crazy hot,” she says. Without even realizing it, Felicity starts nodding along in agreement.

“Really?” Oliver asks, a hint of almost-playful incredulity in his voice as he stares down at her.

“I mean… he’s…” Felicity tries, feeling more than a little defensive as she looks back to the screen. Thor’s throwing his hammer and his biceps are just… “Yeah.”

“Ha!” Jules barks loudly. “Mom’s got taste!”

“I knew that, thanks,” Oliver tells her dryly before looking back to his wife.

“Sorry, honey,” she tells him. “He’s one good looking Norse god. But look on the bright side, at least I’m not all doe-eyed over Hawkeye and his archery.”

Exasperation colors his face as he gestures at the screen. “Those shots aren’t even real!”

“I know,” she tells him, patting his chest. “I know. It’s just Hollywood, hon. None of this is real. Not even Thor… and I’m pretty sure Hemsworth doesn’t have those muscles anymore.”

“Is Hawkeye even in this movie, yet?” Will asks.

“For like thirty seconds or something,” Felicity replies.

“Thirty seconds too much,” Oliver grumbles. Felicity laughs. “It’s true,” he defends.

Why is he so adorable when he’s grumpy? It’s ridiculous. He’s pouting and all she wants to do is kiss it away.

“You’ll always be my favorite archer,” she promises him with a little smile, running her fingers through the mostly-gray scruff along his cheek. She angles her head up to press a lingering kiss to his downturned lips. He holds fast, but it’s not long before he’s giving in with a smile, kissing her back.

“Ugh,” Nate protests in the background.

Felicity doesn’t agree with her youngest’s disgust. She hums in quiet delight as they part, her hand still against her husband’s cheek, savoring that connection. Neither of them pay Nate’s protest any mind, instead resting their foreheads together, noses brushing softly.

She sighs in contentment.

“You’re missing the fight scene with your mushiness,” Jules tells them around a mouthful of popcorn.

It’s true, but it’s not like either of them care. They both learned long ago to relish quiet moments of closeness when they can. This is so much more worthwhile than watching Bruce Banner turn into the Hulk or Loki’s escape or the ship lose its engines. They get more than enough destructive moments of excitement in their lives. Quiet moments of holding on to each other are the ones they grab onto and don’t let go of. And they do…

Right up until Nate’s protest is about something else entirely.

“What the heck!” he shouts at the television. “No, that’s ridiculous. They can’t kill Coulson. He’s the best character! What kind of movie is this?”

“Sorry, kiddo,” Will says, bumping his shoulder against his little brother’s.

“Why would they do that?,” Nate asks, his voice high with distress. He’s all tension and a set jaw. Her baby is such a feeler, takes everything to heart. It makes her want to wrap him up and protect him from the world sometimes. “Why would they kill him?”

“They needed something to pull them together,” Oliver tells his son. “Something to motivate everyone to become a team.”

“Well, I hate it,” Nate declares. “He was the best character in this movie. This movie’s stupid.”

“If it helps any, he’s not really dead,” Felicity advises her little boy.

“He’s not?” Ellie asks. “He looks pretty dead to me with the giant hole in his chest.”

“There was a whole thing in the tv show,” Felicity tells her, waving her hand. “They basically Lazarus Pitted him. Without the crazy. Or… with a different breed of crazy, really…”

“That doesn’t help,” Nate tells her.

“Nate,” Oliver starts, pausing and looking toward his wife for a moment before continuing. Just from the look and his tone, Felicity knows whatever he’s about to say is far more important than the movie itself. “We’ve been lucky, for the most part. But what they do, what we do… it’s dangerous. People get hurt. People die. There’s no pretending that’s not true. Not even in a movie.”

Nate frowns, clearly not enjoying the healthy dose of reality. “I don’t wanna watch this anymore,” he says, putting his popcorn bowl on the coffee table and folding his arms.

“Oh, kiddo, don’t quit now,” Felicity sighs. “It gets better from here. I promise.”

“No one else dies?” he demands.

“Spoiler alert?” she asks, looking between the kids, who all nod. “No one else dies.”

Nate stares at her, waiting for the other shoe to drop, but there isn’t one. He finally sits back with a heavy frown. He isn’t thrilled about continuing the movie, but at least he stays. Will wraps his arm around the younger boy and rubs his shoulder comfortingly. It does exactly what it’s supposed, settling Nate some, at least enough for his frown to soften as he leans into his brother.

On screen, the fight spills onto the streets of New York. Buildings crumble and aliens invade, spreading chaos and violence. In some ways, it’s very familiar. They’ve seen scenes like this over the years, fought these battles. But Felicity has no doubt that it’s far more reminiscent of reality to her and Oliver, and even William, than the younger kids. For all that there are still battles to be fought and won - and there always will be - they’ve made a tremendous difference these past two decades. Their city is safer, their world a little bit better.

But the scene that plays out on the television isn’t reality and it isn’t the midpoint of their story; it’s the start. And the Avengers have so much more work to do before their world reflects their heroism. Felicity can increasingly see the fruits of their efforts in the streets of Starling. She knows full well this kind of fight is worth it. But she’s also well aware that it is a fight and it is not something solved within the span of a movie.

“Okay, but look at that shield,” Ellie points out, gesturing at the television with one hand as she stares at her sister. “Tell me that’s not amazing.”

The metal disc bounces around on screen in improbable ways, taking out aliens left and right before boomeranging back to Captain America’s hands. Cinematically, it’s fun. In reality, it’s not like that would actually work. At least, Felicity’s pretty sure it wouldn’t. It’s not like she’s some kind of crazy ninja warrior girl. But she’s been around fighting for a few decades now and she’s got a good idea of what’s realistic and what’s not. That’s not realistic, she decides, before reminding herself it’s not supposed to be.

“Uh huh,” Jules replies with a sigh. “Almost as amazing as flying around with lasers shooting from your hands.”

“Ugh,” Ellie huffs in exasperation, shaking her head as she looks toward the ceiling. Jules is far too self-satisfied with her sister’s frustration and Will is obviously thoroughly amused by both of his sisters, but it’s Nate who once again grabs her attention. He’s so focused on the screen, so intense, and Felicity can’t help but wonder what her little boy is thinking.

“This would be so much less messy if Coulson were there,” Nate grumbles after a moment. “All those people just keep getting caught in the crossfire. All those buildings are falling. Their jobs are gone, their homes… I thought the Avengers were supposed to save the day?”

Things are so simplistic to him sometimes.

“They do, baby,” Felicity tells him. “But you can’t win every battle in a war. That’s not how it works.”

Oliver swallows hard behind her, his hand jerking slightly against her skin. She runs her fingers along his, soft and soothing, chasing away the memories of battles lost.

“I just figured…” Nate starts, shaking his head a little. “I mean, it’s a movie.”

In spite of having seen the rougher aspects of what Team Arrow does, he’s retained the childish innocence that an almost-twelve-year-old should have. As much as it amazes her, she’s grateful for it, but she also wonders how long that can possibly last.

It’s something that his sisters both lost long ago.

“Exactly,” Jules points out. “It’s a movie. It wouldn’t be entertaining if they won every fight, would it? That’d be boring.”

The look on Nate’s face tells Felicity he doesn’t agree, but he also doesn’t speak up. He’s made of very different stuff than either of his sisters. He will never take up the family mantle - not like Ellie will, or like she wonders if Jules might. Nate’s too gentle for that, too much of a pacifist. She can’t even imagine what it would take for him to be pushed into their world of vigilantism.

Felicity actually expects Jules to keep poking at her brother, but the older girl falls oddly silent watching the television.

On the screen, Iron Man is pulling his great act of heroism, moving to sacrifice himself for the city. Jules is visibly bothered by it. Her brow furrows, her jaw clenching tightly as she stares at the screen.

She’s not the only one who picks up on Jules’ discomfort. Ellie leans against her sister again, resting her cheek on Jules’ shoulder, wrapping her arms around the older girl’s elbow. It’s somehow both supportive and protective.

“Tony’s gotta live,” Ellie tells Jules in a quiet voice. “Mom said so. And, anyhow, who would be a pain in the ass to Captain America with him gone? That’s half the movie.”

Jules is a little mollified by that, shooting her sister a small smile before looking back nervously at the screen.

If Felicity had been asked before the movie who her oldest would identify with most strongly, Tony Stark would not have been her pick. But, looking back, maybe it should have. Like Iron Man, Jules so often hides her feelings behind a sense of false bravado and outlandish behavior. That’s varied a lot over the years, hitting its worst peak just under a year ago, but it’s undeniably her default mode when she feels threatened or scared.

The rest of the fight unfolds. The Avengers save the day and they all survive unscathed - more or less. Nate’s pretty annoyed that Coulson’s still gone when the credits roll, but he grudgingly admits he kind of enjoyed the movie. It leaves Jules quietly thoughtful and Ellie excited, talking about working some of Natasha’s moves into her training.

It’s just a movie, Oliver reminds Ellie. What works on screen doesn’t usually work in real life. But she won’t be dissuaded. It’s only Will reminding her that she wanted to help him babysit that keeps her from rushing down to the gym to spar against a training dummy.

Sometimes Ellie terrifies Felicity. She’s so gung-ho, so ready to don a mask, and yet… she’s not ready in the least.

These days, it’s Ellie - not Jules - who she thinks might give her an ulcer.

“Thanks, Dad,” Jules tells Oliver as she stands. Behind her, Nate is collecting their popcorn bowls and lemonade glasses. “You were right. That was a good movie.”

“Glad you liked it,” Oliver tells her. Felicity’s still curled up on his lap, not inclined in the least to move. His body heat suffuses through her, leaves her comfy and so very loved as his hand strokes along her arm. “Maybe we can all go see the reboot. If it’s any good.”

Felicity expects her daughter to say no, to tell them she has plans with friends or she’s not interested. After all, she’s a nineteen-year-old college student and she probably has better things to do with her time than to hang out with her parents and siblings. But Jules surprises her, biting her lower lip and nodding a little. “Yeah, okay,” Jules replies. “That might be fun.”

“Do you have dance practice tonight?” Will asks from behind her.

“No,” Jules says, glancing at the clock. “But I do have a date and I should go get ready because Miles is gonna be here in like an hour.”

It’s almost five months that she’s been seeing this guy, which is a record for Jules. While she won’t say it’s serious with him, she also won’t say it’s not. That alone is enough to give Felicity pause, but what she’s seen of Miles himself does even more so.

She’s met this kid a few times and he seems nice, but it’s all very surface-level interaction. It feels forced, fake. On one hand, she’s just his girlfriend’s mom. She doesn’t expect him to be super interactive with her. But, on the other, she worries that it’s all there is to him.

Jules talks about him like he hung the moon, like he’s some brilliant philosopher and a musical genius. But all she sees is a kid with who took a break from college to focus on his band. He reminds her of Cooper without the intelligence to back up his ego and it makes her wish Jules could learn from her mistakes secondhand. But she can’t and Felicity doesn’t want to risk damaging her relationship with her daughter in an attempt to force it. She’s more than a little worried that this boy is going to utterly shatter her little girl’s heart because she’s pretty sure that Jules has given more of it than she realizes. All she can do is be there to help pick up the pieces once he’s gone.

“I’ve got a group project to work on,” Nate tells them, derailing her thoughts. Knowing him, he’s probably doing the entirety of it himself. That or he’s worked out a detailed assignment chart. Either one is possible.

“Okay,” Felicity nods from her spot on Oliver’s lap. “Thanks for grabbing the dishes.”

“Sure.” Nate smiles as he heads back downstairs toward the kitchen.

Jules gives a little nod their way before jogging to her room to get ready for her date. Will, for his part, wraps an arm around Ellie and says, “Thanks for the help babysitting. I’ll just move over my laundry and then we can get going, okay?”

“Okay,” Ellie agrees, smiling up at him.

“Glad you’re okay, Will,” Oliver tells his oldest son. “Give Tessa our best and let me know if there’s anything her family needs, okay?”

“Yeah,” Will says with a nod. “I’ll make sure to do that. But, honestly Dad, you caught the guy who did this to her. That’s more than enough.”

There’s absolutely no missing the pleased look that takes over Oliver’s face at his son’s pride and approval. William’s acceptance of Oliver has always meant so much to him and it’s always been so freely given. It could have been so much more complicated. Felicity knows that. But they got lucky. William’s a great kid, an easy kid, and he has always been as eager to have Oliver in his life as Oliver has been to have his son in his.  

Will squeezes his father’s shoulder in silent affection as he heads back downstairs toward the laundry. Ellie follows shortly on his heels, dropping a kiss on both of her parents’ cheeks before she goes.

And then, it’s just them.

Felicity sighs, burrowing further into her husband’s loose hold around her. She holds onto him as much as he holds onto her. It’s a quiet moment, domestic and simple, a calm in the storm of their lives. She doesn’t have to be at QI and he doesn’t have to be at the Senate and there’s no big bad launching a war against the city. Their kids are safe and happy and - for the moment - all beneath their roof.

These are the moments she loves to savor.

“Should we get up?” Oliver asks after a minute, his fingers stroking down the length of her neck softly.

“Mmm, no,” she counters, cupping his cheek and leaning her head against his bicep as she looks up at him. The affection that lives in their shared gaze is breathtaking, blinding, perfect. “I like it here.”

He smiles down at her, those soft wrinkles that line his eyes deepening with his joy. “Me too,” he tells her. “I’m exactly where I want to be.”

She doesn’t have to tell him that they both are.

He already knows.

*

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[sarahburness]

Healing is Not Linear – Highs and Lows Are Part of the Process

“Just like a muscle needs to tear to grow stronger, sometimes we need to wade into our own darkness to find a brighter light.” ~Lori Deschene

Sometimes we need to journey into the deepest, darkest, scariest, most painful places inside in order to reach the next level.

This is what happened to me last week.

When I was younger, I was in an abusive relationship that created a lot of stories in my head. These stories became beliefs that I carried around for a long time. Beliefs like, “I’m not good enough,” “Relationships are painful,” “I don’t have a say,” “I need someone else to show me I’m worthy,” and “I need to be perfect to receive love” (just to name a few).

As a conscious adult, I’ve done a lot of healing work and spiritual development around this, and am proud of the growth I’ve experienced between where I was then and where I am now. But even still, I have setbacks. We all do.

None of us are immune to the fears and self-doubt that pop up when “life happens.” None of us are safe when the ground we’ve worked so hard to establish gets ripped out from us.

After lots of self-development and work around relationships and love, I recently declared to the Universe that I was no longer afraid of being alone and that I was no longer afraid of being vulnerable and my “true self” in a future relationship. So, the Universe delivered. Big time.

I met someone new. He wasn’t like the other men I’ve dated—men who are safe and stable, and who give me a sense of being in control of the situation. He was uncharted territory for me. Hard to read. Mysterious. Kept me guessing.

He would surprise me with nice gestures like showing up with sunflowers, sending me unexpected notes about how beautiful I am, you know… the works. Not to mention the sex. THE SEX! For the first time, possibly in my whole life, I felt really seen, appreciated, valued and truly beautiful while having sex. There was nothing awkward or uncomfortable or weird or threatening about it. I had met Mr. Perfect… or so I thought.

What I know now that I didn’t recognize then was that this guy was an assignment. The Universe heard me loud and clear when I announced that I was ready to be alone and/or in a vulnerable relationship (which is actually a very confusing declaration to make in the first place, so… no wonder stuff got weird!), and so I was sent this guy—let’s refer to him as Mr. Perfect from here on out—as a test.

Mr. Perfect was an opportunity for me to put into practice all of the things I had learned about myself over the past twenty-five years.

Let’s just say that I failed that test. Miserably.

After an all-out eight-day binge on this guy, we were both like a couple of strung-out addicts, totally manipulative and controlling and hopeless about our futures, but pretending everything was just groovy. We were practically playing house together when we hadn’t even known about the other’s existence just a month earlier.

Somewhere throughout the week with Mr. Perfect, my energy shifted. I went from this high-vibe, loving, independent, strong version of myself, to this weird, controlling, self-conscious, anxious, creepy version of me. I went from Jennifer Aniston status to that chick in Mean Girls who’s obsessed with Regina George way too quickly, and my old limiting beliefs started to take over.

Suddenly, I was operating from that old, abusive relationship version of me.

The version of me who thought that being vulnerable in a relationship meant getting hurt.

The version of me who thought that the guy needs to control everything, and that I am not safe to speak up about what I really want, because you never know how he’s going to react.

The version of me who felt uncomfortable in her own skin, so tried really hard to look pretty, say the right thing, and always do something more in an effort to be noticed.

The version of me who thought that I needed a man to “save me,” or that he was the one answer to all of my problems in life.

You can only race like that for so long until you crash.

And so, eight days of passionate sex, cute notes, sleepless nights, hours of butterflies in my stomach, several dinners, one brunch, way too much tequila, and two bouquets of flowers later, we bottomed out. Both of us.

Mr. Perfect and I took a crash course in “How to Not Date as Intentional, Conscious Human Beings 101.” Our worlds both went spinning—his, with a huge f*ck up at work, likely the result of us spending too much time together; mine, reversing to harmful coping behaviors that used to show up when I was younger.

When I got the text from Mr. Perfect that started with “We need to talk,” I went into a downward spiral of emotion and drama. He wanted to end things. I wanted to die. I literally paced outside my apartment building for three hours trying my very best to not have a heart attack.

I questioned everything. Was any of it real? Did I mean anything to him? How could I screw this up? How could I fix it? I needed to fix it. How could I mess up such a perfect thing?

But suddenly, I had a beautiful recognition. I noticed that there was a shift. In my heart space, I could feel the presence of my Higher Self. The part of me that’s connected to something bigger. The part of me that knows these stories of not being good enough are complete BS.

And just like that, I was no longer living in the stories that were sending me into a near panic attack. I was above that. I knew that I was better than that. That I deserve more. That it wasn’t my fault. That I didn’t do anything wrong. That I was still just as worthy as love and acceptance and beauty as anyone else on this planet.

In that moment, I forgave myself.

I forgave myself for the behavior that caused him to end things.

I forgave myself for the fact that I let it get to the point where we even engaged in an eight-day binge on each other.

And most importantly, I forgave myself for all the negative and self-doubting talk, limiting beliefs, and lame stories I told myself when it happened.

I saw that the stories were keeping me stuck. I saw that they made me revert back to this old version of me that I no longer was. And I saw that I had the awareness and the power now to intentionally choose to believe a different story instead.

I chose to believe that this story was no longer serving me, and that I could rise above it.

That I actually didn’t need a man to “fix” me or to complete me, but that I had actually been doing that work on my own all along.

I decided that I was done with this belief of not being good enough.

I was soooo done.

I decided then and there to stay committed to this path of personal growth and transcendence, because I see now how all of the pain and struggles that I’ve been through actually happened for me, instead of to me.

All of it was for a reason.

You can do the same. Everything that you’ve been through—every negative thought or limiting belief or fear that you’ve had that’s kept you from what you want the most in life—it’s all within your power to change. If you decide that you deserve it.

Healing is not linear. There will be highs and lows, laughs and tears, moments of total bliss and moments of complete uncertainty and self-doubt. But through it all, is your Higher Self, and S/he wants to see you come out stronger through each and every assignment that the Universe throws your way.

S/he is cheering you on from the sidelines and always there for support as your #1 fan, no matter what crazy stuff comes across your path. And that person, that part of you, needs you to show up to these assignments. To really face the fear head on, to feel the pain, and to move through it.

Because on the other side of fear and pain and struggle and darkness lies your greatness.

Looking back at it now, I don’t think I failed the test the Universe sent me. I think I passed it. Because I chose my Higher Self, I chose self-love, and I chose me.

Maybe that was the lesson all along.

About Lauren Madden

Lauren is a life coach, blogger, and yoga teacher in Phoenix, AZ. She’s actively creating a life that lights her up from the inside out, and helping her clients to do the same! She also has a serious coffee addiction. Check out her blog at laurenmaddencoaching.com.

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The post Healing is Not Linear – Highs and Lows Are Part of the Process appeared first on Tiny Buddha.

from Tiny Buddha https://tinybuddha.com/blog/healing-is-not-linear-highs-and-lows-are-part-of-the-process/