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Healing Isn’t Linear: 5 Things I Wish I Knew Sooner

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Let’s talk about healing. It’s one of those things we often think will be neat, tidy, and straightforward. You start, you heal, and then bam! You’re healed. Right?

Spoiler alert: It doesn’t work like that.

Healing is one of the messiest, most unpredictable journeys you’ll ever embark on. And if you’re anything like me, you’ve probably been frustrated, disappointed, or even heartbroken by how slowly things seem to move. But let me let you in on a little secret: healing isn’t linear. It’s more like a zigzagging road trip with unexpected detours and scenic views along the way.

So, here are five things I really, truly wish I knew sooner. These are the lessons that would’ve made the whole process way less overwhelming, and hopefully, they’ll help you navigate your healing journey with a bit more grace.

1. Setbacks Are Part of the Deal

When I first started trying to heal, I thought I’d reach a point where I’d just be better. No hiccups, no bumps. But I quickly learned that setbacks are part of the process. One minute you’re feeling good, the next, it feels like you’re stuck in the same place. That’s normal. In fact, it’s often a sign that you’re doing something right. Healing is messy, and progress isn’t always visible.

Tip: The next time you feel like you’re backtracking, give yourself permission to feel it. Setbacks don’t mean you’re failing; they mean you’re moving. Slowly, maybe, but you’re still moving.

2. You Don’t Have to Have It All Figured Out

Here’s the thing: I thought that healing meant I’d eventually have all the answers. I’d be enlightened. I’d be… perfect. (Insert laugh here.) Spoiler alert: Not a thing. Healing is messy, and it doesn’t follow any set path. You don’t need to have it all figured out. In fact, trying to have everything mapped out just adds more pressure to an already intense journey. You’re not supposed to have all the answers. You’re supposed to live the questions.

Tip: Take it day by day. Set small intentions, not giant goals. Today, try journaling your thoughts for 10 minutes. Tomorrow, maybe you just breathe deeply for a few minutes. It’s all progress.

3. Patience Is Your Best Friend (Even When You’re Sick of It)

You know what they don’t tell you about healing? It takes way longer than you want it to. Seriously. Whether you’re healing from heartbreak, trauma, or just life, you’re going to feel like you’re stuck in the waiting room forever. The truth? Healing takes time. It’s all about baby steps, little victories, and allowing things to unfold when they’re ready.

Tip: Instead of focusing on the end goal, celebrate the smallest wins. Maybe you cried it out but didn’t spiral. Maybe you were gentle with yourself instead of being harsh. Progress can be tiny, but it still counts.

4. You’re Allowed to Have Bad Days

Healing isn’t about feeling better all the time. In fact, some days you might feel worse, and that’s okay. It doesn’t mean you’re back to square one. Some days you’ll feel tired, irritable, or just plain overwhelmed. And that’s normal. You don’t have to be happy every single day to be healing. It’s okay to sit with discomfort and not try to fix it right away.

Tip: Allow yourself to feel the tough stuff. On days when everything feels heavy, give yourself permission to be a little sad, a little angry, or a little tired. Healing isn’t about being “better,” it’s about embracing the full range of your emotions.

5. Self-Care Isn’t Just Bubble Baths

I used to think self-care was all about face masks and indulgent baths. And hey, that’s part of it. But real self-care is so much deeper. It’s about setting boundaries, learning to say no, and prioritizing your mental and emotional health. It’s the quiet, everyday acts of kindness that you show yourself when things are tough. If there’s one thing I wish I knew earlier, it’s this: self-care isn’t a luxury. It’s essential.

Tip: Start making self-care a daily priority. It can be as simple as drinking enough water, getting some fresh air, or cutting out negative people. Small changes create big impact.

 

Healing Is About Progress, Not Perfection

So, here’s the real takeaway: healing is never going to be perfect. It’s going to have its ups and downs, twists and turns, and moments where you question if you’re making any progress at all. But I promise you, you are. Progress is still progress, even if it’s not visible right away. Healing is messy, but it’s also incredibly beautiful.

So take a deep breath, cut yourself some slack, and remember that healing is a journey, one you’re allowed to take at your own pace. You’ve got this. And most importantly? You’re not alone.

Healing with you, Ria.

What’s something you wish you knew about healing earlier? Drop a comment and let’s talk about it. Also, if this post spoke to you, make sure to subscribe to Sips and Scars for more heartfelt stories and healing insights.

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The Uninvited Tattoo Artist Who Works for Free (And Still Somehow Overcharges)

The Uninvited Tattoo Artist Who Works for Free (And Still Somehow Overcharges)

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Art is subjective, but an itchy red masterpiece on your skin? That’s objectively a mosquito’s finest work.

Ah, mosquitoes. The unsung geniuses of the art world. The Picassos of pain, the Da Vincis of disruption, the Van Goghs of—well, making sure you lose an ear to incessant buzzing. These tiny tormentors have been perfecting their craft for centuries, yet they receive nothing but slaps and curses in return. Tragic, really.

A Master of Performance Art

Mosquitoes are the original immersive artists. While other creatives stick to lifeless canvases, mosquitoes interact with their audience. They don’t just make their presence known—they demand a response. Their medium? The haunting hum in your ear at precisely 2:37 a.m., the rhythmic percussion of your own hand smacking your skin in futility, and the slow, dawning horror of an itch that will outlast your will to live.

They don’t just create art. They are the art.

Abstract Expressionism at Its Itchiest

A mosquito’s true masterpiece isn’t the bite—it’s the welt. Every red, inflamed bump is an organic brushstroke, a unique, fleeting composition on the canvas of your skin. You? You’re just the gallery. Each piece varies in size, texture, and intensity, a testament to their skill and dedication. Ever wake up looking like a modern art exhibit? Congratulations, you’ve been curated.

Jackson Pollock could never.

A Commitment to the Bit(e)

Lesser artists give up when faced with adversity, but mosquitoes? Mosquitoes persevere. Slap them mid-bite, and they’ll die for their art—literally. But their sacrifice isn’t in vain. Their work lives on, a posthumous masterpiece throbbing on your ankle. Some might call this dedication insufferable. Others might call it performance art in its rawest form.

Tomato, tomahto.

Global Impact – The Art That Unites Us

Some art is exclusive, meant for those who “understand” it. Mosquitoes? They make sure everyone participates. It doesn’t matter where you live or how much repellent you douse yourself in. These tiny artists transcend borders, social classes, and levels of personal hygiene. They’re equal opportunity menaces.

And really, isn’t that the dream? To create something that touches everyone? (Preferably not with disease, but hey, all great artists have their controversies.)

Final Thoughts: Give Credit Where It’s Due

Perhaps it’s time to rethink our stance on mosquitoes. Instead of resenting them, maybe we should acknowledge their artistry, their persistence, their sheer audacity. Maybe, just maybe, the real problem isn’t them—it’s us.

…Nah.

Where’s the mosquito bat?

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In Through Curtained Windows And Open Balconies

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Through every open curtain, a quiet reminder that we are never truly alone ✨

Ever since I can remember, I’ve had this little habit—whenever I’m walking past an apartment or house with its windows glowing at night, I look inside. Not in a creepy way, but in a curious way. If the door is left ajar for ventilation (AKA an open invitation for mosquitoes), or if a balcony is spilling warm light into the night, my eyes wander.

There had to be lights on. First, because this hobby, which started when I was a tiny kid, was strictly reserved for after-dinner walks with my family. And second, because my height was inconvenient—tall for a kindergartener, but still too short to see much in the dark. (Also, I was busy stuffing stones into my mouth and pockets, which… let’s not talk about.)

My mother would nudge me away, claiming I was staring rudely, while also prying open my mouth to confiscate my latest rock collection. Guess which habit stuck. If you said both, congratulations—you might have pica too. (Kidding. Kind of.) But mostly, it’s looking into homes that stayed with me.

There’s something strangely beautiful about these fleeting glimpses into people’s lives—their only unconscious invitation to the outside world. A swaying curtain. A netted window. Clothes drying on a balcony (yes, actual air-dried clothes—shockingly, dryers aren’t mandatory). A door cracked open just enough to keep an eye on the dog.

I know what you’re thinking. Your doors are locked. Your curtains are drawn. You’re suddenly questioning every window in your house. Relax. I swear I’m not a creep.

It’s just… comforting. For a few seconds, I get to step into another world—uninvited, yes, but harmlessly.

A bedroom light glowing at 5 AM—my mom’s theory? Someone’s studying, and I should have done that too. A front door left open just long enough to grab the rangoli box left outside after watering the yard. The chaotic sounds of a kitchen—mothers frantically searching for that one missing lid while also yelling at their kids to grab their school lunch. (The irony of multitasking is undefeated.) A grinder whirring, leaving me wondering what they’re cooking for lunch—only to realize I haven’t even had breakfast yet.

Freshly hung laundry in the late afternoons, making me wonder how many loads they still have left. A slow-moving curtain in a dim room confirms someone is deep in the best afternoon nap of their life.

But my favorite windows? The ones at night. When everyone is home.
When the day has settled.

Families at dinner tables, catching up on their day. Kids finishing up homework. Moms cleaning the kitchen after their own 9-to-5 grind. (Honestly, a full-time job that deserves actual pay and benefits.)
One by one, the lights go out—some early, some late—as cozy people tuck themselves into bed… while I wander around my apartment complex, collecting these quiet, unspoken stories.

And sometimes, I wonder—does anyone ever look into my home? I hope they do. I hope, even for a second, it gives them the same quiet comfort it gives me.

Maybe they wonder why the bedroom light is on at 2 AM. Or why the kitchen drawers slam at 3 AM (I promise I try to close them softly; my family has given up). Or why the living room light flickers on at 5 AM—just before I step out, ready to get lost in the glow of other people’s windows again.

Maybe it’s curiosity. (I am a Scorpio, after all.) Or, in this vast and endless world, it just makes me feel less alone.

Maybe, just maybe, we’re all looking for the same thing—proof that life is still happening, one glowing window at a time.

Under the same moon, Ria.

 

 

 

Ever found comfort in a stranger’s window glow? (Or at least confirm I’m not the only one doing this.) Drop your stories below—I promise no one will judge. 💛

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Marked & Memoired: An Ode to the Stories We Wear

Marked & Memoired: An Ode to the Stories We Wear

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If you’ve lived long enough to trip over your own shoelaces, send an embarrassing text to the wrong person, or make a life choice that still haunts you at 2 a.m.—congrats, you’ve got stories. And welcome, because Marked & Memoired is exactly where they belong.

This isn’t about wallowing in the past. It’s about collecting the moments that left marks—some deep, some faint, some so ridiculous you can’t believe they actually happened—and turning them into something worth remembering. Because, let’s be real, half the time we don’t even realize a moment is significant until years later, when it shows up in a nostalgic spiral or as the punchline of a story we tell too often.

Maybe it’s a lesson learned the hard way—one of those moments where you swore you’d never make the same mistake again (and yet, here we are). Maybe it’s a memory that resurfaces out of nowhere, tied to a song, a scent, or the way the sunlight hits a certain street corner, transporting you back to a version of yourself you forgot existed. Or maybe it’s just a wildly chaotic experience that deserves to be immortalized in writing, because some things are too good (or too disastrous) to be lost to time.

Life doesn’t come with a warning label, (I wish it did)  and sometimes we only understand what we’ve been through when we look back and piece it together. The moments that left scars—whether literal or metaphorical—are proof that we’ve lived, stumbled, and kept going. They remind us that growth isn’t always linear, that mistakes are sometimes necessary, and that even the most painful experiences can make for a damn good story in hindsight.

So, let’s talk about the marks we carry—the ones that changed us, the ones we laugh about now, and the ones still waiting for their final chapter. Because if life insists on leaving us with scars, we might as well make them into stories worth telling. And who knows? Maybe in sharing them, we’ll realize that we were never really alone in them after all.

In Strength and Healing, Ria.

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The Living Room

Sips, Scars, and Starting Somewhere.

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Pour a Cup, Unpack a Scar.

When you decide to open your own corner of the internet, it’s more than just a website. It’s where your thoughts and memories live, unapologetically, exactly as they are.

When I told my dad I was creating a blog, he asked me why. Not because he didn’t want me to, but because he was imagining a future I haven’t yet figured out. It was easier for me to tell him I was creating it as a portfolio for future jobs. I don’t think he fully understands the concept yet, but he is supportive.

The keywords that led to his approval of my blog? “Future Jobs.”

That isn’t a complete lie though—it is a portfolio, but of my life. If this leads to a future job offer, then present me will be super proud of herself. But even if it doesn’t (that thought and this economy are my arch-rivals), I know I’ll look back and be massively, super proud. And yes, that is a lot of pride.

It took me years to find the courage to let others see my cracks. Now I’m willingly opening the door and letting them breathe because it’s getting a little stuffy here day by day.

Welcome to Sips and Scars

A place where I stop pretending and finally get real. A space where I let myself feel everything—so you can feel it too.

Rome wasn’t built in a day, and neither is the courage to open the closet where I’ve shoved all my existential (and non-existent) fears. Baby steps.

Come on in, don’t be shy. Kick off your shoes and make yourself at home. The door is always open, and the doormat says: “Leave your worries here and enter in peace.” It might sound like something you’d hear at church, but trust me—it’s a cool mat.

And now we’re in my living room. It’s exactly what it sounds like—a cozy, messy, wonderfully imperfect space where stories are shared, hearts are healed, and where a little bit of chaos is always welcome. Let me show you around.

The Cozy Corner Chronicles

Think of this space as the big, overstuffed couch in the room—the one that welcomes you after a long day, offering nothing but comfort and a much-needed escape.

Here, I’m not talking about life’s grand, earth-shattering moments. I’m talking about the little things—the feel of your favorite blanket, the laughter shared over a cup of tea, the books that transport you to other worlds, and the movies that remind you everything will be okay.

It’s for comfort seekers and soft souls, for those who find magic in the small, quiet joys.

Let’s slow down, take a deep breath, and savor the little things that make life feel like home.

Marked & Memoired 

Because every scar, every stumble, and every “well, that was a mistake” moment comes with a story worth telling.

This is where the past meets the present, where memories resurface not as wounds but as words—sometimes deep, sometimes hilarious, but always real. Life leaves marks on all of us, but instead of just carrying them, why not turn them into stories? Some are heavy, some are ridiculous, and some are just those “what even was that” moments that stick with us.

Marked & Memoired—a place where the past isn’t baggage; it’s material.

Ria’s Strategies

Every living room needs its wildcard, and this is mine. Picture this space as the spot where I spill more than just coffee on a Monday morning.

This isn’t your typical professional playbook—it’s where I share the behind-the-scenes of my journey into social media, content creation, and digital marketing. The wins, the flops, the oops, that didn’t go as planned moments. It’s messy, it’s real, and I wouldn’t have it any other way.

Expect laughs, some “Ohhh, that makes sense” moments, and a whole lot of honesty.

If the Living Room Isn’t Your Vibe,

You can also imagine this space as your favourite cafe that you’ve gatekept for so long. The one where you can spend your mornings, afternoons, and evenings and forget time. You know the one that I’m talking about.

Imagine sitting in that cozy corner and re-reading the same book you’ve loved a hundred times or listening to that one song on repeat, cause same.

It’s all up to you, Sips and Scars can feel like your favourite cafe, park, library or even a slow pub at night. This is where you can recharge.

This is where you can recharge. Here, the energy is always real, and this sanctuary is always safe, I promise.

So, Why Sips and Scars?

Sips for the sweetness of life, and Scars for the lessons learned, the pain endured, and the beauty that emerges when we share it all.

Life’s ups, downs, and everything in between—let’s embrace it all together.

Pull up a chair, a bean bag, or just sink into the rug — whatever feels right. I hope you’ll settle in, stay a while, and find a little bit of yourself in these stories.

Because here at Sips and Scars, everyone’s welcome, and every story matters. 

With love, Ria.



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