Healing Took Its Sweet Time With Me

The day I gave my heart to Jesus, I didn’t know what I was doing.

I had no plan, no perfect words, no theology degree—just a heart that was heavy and a whisper inside that said, go.

The pastor gave the altar call and without fully understanding what it meant, I got up from my seat. I walked forward, trembling, and when I got to the front... I didn’t just kneel. I fell. Right there at the altar of this loud, charismatic, Pentecostal church. And I stayed. I don’t know how long I was down there. Maybe minutes. Maybe hours. I just remember crying, sobbing, surrendering, pouring everything out.

And then, after what seemed like hours —I stood up.

I looked down at my clothes.

At my hands.

At my feet.

And I thought to myself, I look the same… but I’m different.

Something had shifted. Something holy had happened. I couldn’t explain it, but I knew in my spirit that I had just met Jesus. For real. And He met me—mess and all.

But here’s what no one told me:

Healing doesn’t happen in one altar call.

That moment was powerful. Eternal. Transformational.

But the healing? The deep healing?

That would take time.

And that’s the part I didn’t expect.

I thought maybe I’d feel whole overnight. That all the brokenness would instantly be swept away. That I’d wake up the next morning brand new—mind, body, soul.

But what actually happened was slower. Sacred. Sometimes frustrating.

God didn’t give me a quick fix.

He gave me Himself.

He walked me through the layers I had buried.

The pain I didn’t want to look at.

The patterns I had learned just to survive.

He showed me how to breathe again.

How to trust again.

How to believe I was loved—not just saved.

And if I’m being honest… there were many days I wondered if I was even healing at all. I still had triggers. I still struggled with identity. I still wrestled with shame.

But now I see it clearly: Healing isn’t always loud and obvious. Sometimes it looks like survival softening into surrender. Sometimes it looks like showing up to church even when you don’t feel anything.

Sometimes it looks like praying the same prayer for the tenth time because you still need to believe it.

If you’re there now, sis… still in the middle of your healing… still in process… can I just say this?

You’re not broken beyond repair.

You’re not behind.

You’re not doing it wrong.

You’re healing.

Slowly. Deeply. Eternally.

And God is not disappointed in your pace. He’s delighted in your presence.

That altar moment was real.

But the walk that followed is just as holy.

So take your time.

Cry when you need to.

Celebrate the small victories.

And keep walking with the One who never left your side.

Because healing might take time...

But it will happen.

And when it does, it won’t just change how you feel.

It’ll change who you are.

A scripture that holds me:

"He who began a good work in you will carry it on to completion until the day of Christ Jesus."

—Philippians 1:6