On Healing and Dishwashers

Last night, unprocessed past made an appearance in my dreams: my beloved late bunny, our wounded dog after his attack, and a friend I had a falling out with months ago.

The thing is, you think you’ve healed. You think you’ve graduated from that phase, earned your invisible diploma in “moving on.” And then, surprise: the universe slides another assignment across your desk. Apparently there’s always extra credit in emotional processing.

It’s like when you finally manage to load the dishwasher after a ten-person dinner, feeling victorious -a domestic goddess in her prime- and just as you’re about to press start, someone walks in with ten more plates. You stare, defeated. You sigh. Then you start unloading and rearranging, somehow making it all fit, because that’s what adults do: we make space for the unexpected mess.

Healing’s exactly like that. Just because you’ve “done the work” once doesn’t mean you’re exempt from doing it again. Emotions pile up. Life keeps serving courses you didn’t order. The dishwasher -your heart- never really gets to retire.

And yes, sometimes it’s exhausting. Sometimes you just want to take a vacation from yourself, go to a metaphorical restaurant, and let someone else do the dishes for once.

But maybe that’s the beauty of it, that we can keep unloading, reloading, and rinsing what no longer serves us. Maybe healing isn’t a one-time deep clean. It’s just the ongoing maintenance of being human.