The Day After the Storm

Day 9 — December 2, 2025

Today felt like the emotional hum after thunder. That low, vibrating quiet where everything is still rearranging itself inside you. Not dramatic. Not poetic. Just honest.

Yesterday carved something out of me, and this morning was the echo of that carving. I woke up heavy in the way truth makes you heavy. Not sinking, not drowning, just aware. My body ached with the memory of holding too much. My mind felt dull around the edges, like someone turned the volume down on every thought. My chest felt bruised from the inside out.

And yet underneath all of that? There was softness. A tenderness that felt almost shy. A steadiness returning like a timid animal stepping back toward my palms.

For the first time in weeks, I meditated. Nothing dramatic. I didn’t ascend or vibrate at a new frequency or transcend my earthly form (tragic, truly).

But I sat. I breathed.

I let my mind chatter and quiet and chatter again. And somewhere in those small, stubborn breaths, I felt myself return to myself. Not fully. But enough.

Meditation has always been a home for me. A place where I’m not the woman who survived, or the woman healing, or the woman navigating a legal process but simply Ariana.

Just a heart. Just a breath. Just a girl trying.

Later, I worked out for the first time in what feels like a lifetime ago.

Nothing heroic. Nothing punishing.

Just movement, gentle, deliberate, mine. Letting my muscles remember they belong to me. Letting my body remember it’s allowed to feel strong again. Letting myself reclaim even the smallest slice of agency that trauma tried to steal.

And it felt good. Not cinematic. Not aesthetic. Just good. Present. My body whispered, thank you. I whispered back, I’m trying.

The rest of the day moved like honey. It was slow, sticky, and warm in places, heavy in others.

I drank water. I washed my face. I let myself rest without apologizing or negotiating with my own worth. I didn’t outrun my feelings. I didn’t freeze under them either.

Trauma teaches you to rush your emotions. Healing teaches you to let them breathe.

There were still flickers of fear, of course. Shadows brushing up against my ribs, moments where my brain tried to replay yesterday’s panic. But they didn’t take over today. They just passed through. Like weather. Like clouds. Like things that no longer get to claim full ownership of my breath.

Somewhere in all that quiet, I realized something gentle but important:

Yesterday broke something open. Today stitched something closed. Not perfectly. Not completely. But enough. Enough to continue. Enough to move.

Tonight the apartment feels warm again glowing softly from the little Christmas tree in the corner. Roger is curled at my feet like he knows I survived something enormous this week, even if he doesn’t know what it was.

And he’s right. I did.

Today wasn’t triumphant. It wasn’t miraculous. It wasn’t even particularly interesting. But it was healing in the smallest, quietest, most necessary ways. Meditation. Movement. Breath. Presence. Me choosing myself again, gently and without spectacle.

Chaos didn’t win today. Grace did. Not loudly. But clearly.

And that is Wild Poise in its purest form.