Visitors in the House

When I was sick and living with chronic pain,
I created a division inside me.
It started with a hairline fracture — a sense of brokenness.
My sense of self began to escape through the cracks.

The house where my mind lives — my body — began to open its doors to guests I didn’t want to meet.
Anger. Frustration. Resentment. Self-loathing. Grief. Shame.
Suddenly, like mold, the whole house was filled with unwanted visitors — disrespectful, chaotic.

I fought back for years, trying to close the gaps within me.
What else could I do?
I wanted to be who I was before.
I didn’t want these emotions settling in, making themselves at home in a place they didn’t belong.
As you might guess, I wanted them gone.
All of them.

But that’s a battle you can’t win.

It took me years to understand this:
The only way to let them out was to fill my home with different guests — the ones worth keeping.
Kindness. Patience. Compassion. Acceptance.

I read a lot, trying to find my way to healing.
Not stories or poems — I read the dictionary.
Definitions. I needed to understand what peace really meant.
What compassion meant.
And slowly, I began to remember.
Slowly, I made space.
Healing doesn’t announce itself with big moments —
if anything, it’s the opposite.
It’s a gradual cultivation of peace.
You start to feel a little less uncomfortable.
A little less reactive.
Until, little by little, there was no room left for anger or shame to stay.
Quiet. Steady. Undeniable.

— by Pau Marchant