Finding Peace in Accepting Yourself

Thoughts on healing and self acceptance

If you’re new here I’m Laura, a counsellor, nature therapist, somatic therapist, meditation teacher and space holder. My work is centered around gently guiding people back into relationship with themselves, with their bodies, and with the wider natural world. My offerings weave together counselling psychology, embodiment, nature connection and ritual to support deeper alignment with our inner and outer cycles.

Let’s start by sitting with the title of this post: You might never be 'healed'.

How does it feel to read that? Can you take a moment to notice your body’s response? Is there resistance, sadness, relief, curiosity? Let whatever comes up be okay. You don’t need to fix or analyse it, just allow it to rise. So often we’re taught to think of healing as a destination, a final place we’ll arrive at if we just work hard enough. The belief goes something like: If I take the right steps, if I commit to the work, if I stay consistent, I’ll reach a place where I’m fully healed, whole, and free from pain.

And to some extent, that’s true, especially in the early stages of healing. There are often tangible steps we can take: connecting with ourselves, exploring the origins of our pain, bringing unconscious patterns into awareness, and allowing ourselves to truly feel what we’ve been avoiding. These are powerful and important parts of the journey. They create real and lasting change.

But healing isn’t always linear, and it doesn’t always lead to a fixed, polished version of ourselves. In truth, healing is often cyclical. It’s layered. We return to old wounds with new eyes, deeper tools, and greater self-compassion. Sometimes, the goal isn’t to "heal" in the sense of erasing pain or becoming someone else, but to learn how to be with ourselves more gently in the midst of it. To relate to our wounds in a new way. To grow stronger not in spite of them, but because we’ve met them with presence and care.

So, what if healing isn’t a finish line, but an ongoing relationship with yourself? What if it’s not about becoming "healed," but about becoming more human—more connected, more resourced, more compassionate toward your own experience? Let that idea settle for a moment. It might just change the way you approach your journey entirely.

At some point in our healing we have to learn to be ok with ourselves in this moment

At some point in our healing journey, we come to a crossroad; the place where we must begin to make peace with ourselves as we are, in this moment. If we’re always chasing the image of a "healed" version of ourselves, if we’re constantly striving, fixing, improving, we risk bypassing the very heart of what healing is meant to give us: self-acceptance, self-compassion, and the ability to be present with our humanity. When we only allow ourselves to feel worthy or whole once we’ve reached some idealised version of who we think we should be, we withhold love and grace from the person we are right now.

I say this as someone who has done a lot of work. I’m a do-er by nature when it comes to healing. I take it seriously. it’s a regular practice and an intentional part of my life. I’ve explored my past trauma, I’ve sat in therapy, I’ve learned to regulate my nervous system and I have tools that genuinely help me manage my mental health and wellbeing. I am stronger, more aware, and more resilient than I’ve ever been. I’m proud of that.

But am I "healed"? No. Not in the way I once thought I would be. And maybe that’s not the point anymore.

The next chapter in my journey isn’t about doing more. It’s about being more, with myself, with my imperfections, with the quiet moments and with the parts of me that still ache. It’s about cultivating deep acceptance and radical compassion for the version of me who exists here and now. The one who is beautifully messy, flawed, tender, and very much still in process. I don’t need to become someone else to be worthy of peace. I can choose to love and honour myself exactly as I am—wounds and all.

That, I’m beginning to understand, is healing too.

I accept myself and all of my wounds.

Every adverse experience we go through shapes us. Sometimes in ways that are obvious, and sometimes in subtle undercurrents that run beneath the surface of our daily lives. Like all of us, I carry my life experiences with me. They’ve left imprints on my body, my beliefs, my nervous system, and the way I move through the world. And while we are undoubtedly more than the sum of our parts, those parts, the hurt ones, the protective ones, the parts that still withdraw or freeze or long for connection, they deserve to be seen, accepted, and honoured.

That doesn’t mean we have to let the past dictate our present. With awareness, non-attachment, and a growing connection to ourselves, we can shift old patterns, choose new responses, and live full, joyful, and peaceful lives. But that shift doesn’t come from rejecting who we’ve been or trying to erase the pain, it comes from turning toward ourselves with compassion. It comes from offering love to the parts that didn’t get it when they needed it most.

My past does not define me but it has shaped me. And instead of resisting that truth or constantly seeing myself as a project in need of fixing, I’m learning to accept who I am in the here and now. I’m not perfect. I am, like you, beautifully human. Still unfolding. Still healing. Still learning.

The mantra I return to again and again is this:
“I accept myself and all of my wounds.”
Not because everything is healed or resolved, but because I deserve to meet myself with kindness in every stage of the journey.

There is a crack, a crack in everything, That’s how the light gets in

Healing isn’t about becoming flawless or erasing the past, it’s about learning to live with the cracks, the tenderness, and the truth of who we are. When we stop striving for some perfect version of ourselves and instead choose to honour our wholeness, wounds and all, we begin to experience real peace. We learn that acceptance doesn’t mean giving up, but softening into the present moment with love and compassion.

As Leonard Cohen so beautifully wrote:
Ring the bells that still can ring
Forget your perfect offering
There is a crack, a crack in everything
That’s how the light gets in

May we each find the courage to accept that we might never be healed and to love ourselves anyway.