Healing doesn’t always look big or loud. Sometimes it’s just showing up for the quiet, sacred tasks that no one else sees.
I wrote this poem for the days when survival is the win. For anyone trying to rebuild after harm, this is for you.
Some Days I Call It Healing
Some days I call it healing.
Other days, I just call it surviving.I make my bed like a prayer.
I eat dinner like a protest.I put on shea butter like I deserve gentleness.
I lock my door like I finally believe
I have the right to safety.Some people don’t understand
how sacred these small things are.
But I know what it cost me
to live this quietly.I used to think I had to hold it all together.
Now I know it can look like falling apart,
and still choosing to be real.Or resting.
Or not explaining.I still talk to God,
But everything changed
when I started being honest.When I say:
“I’m not okay today.”
Or
“That still hurt.”
Or
“Please just hold me together
for one more hour.”Some days, I don’t have words.
Some days, I just breathe.
And I think God still calls that a prayer.Some days I call it healing.
Some days I don’t call it anything.
But I keep going.
And that’s enough.– Madison Taylore
Let’s Talk
What are the “small sacred things” that help you feel safe or human again?
I’d love to hear from you in Community Voices discussion.
Want to share your own writing or story?
Submissions are open—feel free to send in your work (poetry, letters, prayers, reflections, or survivor stories).
You can remain anonymous or include your name if you’d prefer the credit, whatever feels most comfortable.
Email me at contact@tayloredgrace.org
With love and grace,
Madison Taylore