Radiant Redemption

If there’s one thing recovery has taught me, it’s this: healing is not a straight line.

I don’t care how many self-help books you read or how many inspirational quotes you pin to your vision board—progress is never perfect. It’s messy. It’s two steps forward, one step back. Sometimes it’s falling flat on your face and realizing that the fact you get back up at all is growth.

For a long time, I thought I had moved past the need to hide my mistakes. I thought shame no longer had the same hold over me. And then one day, someone asked me a question that touched a nerve—a question that required me to admit an embarrassing truth. Without even thinking, I gave a misleading answer.

There it was. That old impulse to self-protect. To dodge vulnerability. To make myself look better than I was.

But here’s the difference: this time, I caught it. I paused. I corrected myself. I spoke the truth—even though my cheeks burned and my voice quivered.

And you know what? That wasn’t failure. That was growth.

Because healing doesn’t mean we never mess up again. Healing means we recognize it faster, recover sooner, and move forward without drowning in shame.

Being human means you will stumble. You will get triggered. You will default to old habits from time to time. But the work of recovery is not about being flawless—it’s about being faithful. It’s about showing up, learning from the stumble, and refusing to quit just because you tripped.

So let’s stop expecting perfection from ourselves. Let’s stop thinking a misstep cancels out the miles we’ve already traveled. Every single time we own the truth, every time we get back up, every time we choose grace over shame—we are growing.

And that’s what this is about. Progress, not perfection.

Take a moment this week to reflect on a time when you “messed up” in recovery. Instead of labeling it as failure, ask yourself: What did I learn? How did I grow from it?

Then write down one way you can choose progress over perfection today. And if you feel led, share your reflection in the comments—because your stumble might just be the story that helps another woman keep walking.