Eight months. That's how long the counseling process took me. It's also, ironically, the last time I published writing to this page. Eight whole months. My healing took almost the same amount of time it takes a new life to grow in a momma's womb. Part of me can't believe it. If I had known when I went into counseling that it would take that long for total healing, I don't know I would have continued. I was scared going in, that's for sure. What do I expect? What do I tell this stranger? How long do I continue to "willingly" dig into who I am and what built me and figure out what hurt me and why? These are some of the questions I thought. But at the same time, the other part of me can't believe it's only been eight months. Eight months of freedom, eight months of redemption, eight months of growth. Only eight months. I wanted to write on this blog several times because I seriously do love writing. I love how words are individual yet they