We often become the harshest judges of ourselves, replaying old mistakes and sentencing ourselves to invisible punishments. In The Criminal in Me (Part 3), I share my journey of showing up for myself—no longer as the accused, but as someone who finally deserves compassion.

The past never really rests—it lingers, haunts, and whispers from that endless hallway in our minds. I spent years hiding behind strength, silencing the child in me who once dreamed freely and felt deeply. But healing doesn’t come from erasing those parts—it comes from connection. From allowing the child and the adult to finally sit together in peace. And maybe, just maybe, that’s where the real healing begins.

When a friendship ends, there are no rituals, no casseroles, no collective sighs. The ache arrives quietly, like a book left unfinished on the table. Research shows that unacknowledged grief can linger, shaping trust and self-worth. Honoring what was lost, creating small rituals, and giving ourselves permission to feel can turn silence into healing. Even grief without ceremony deserves a place in our story.