leaves fall, pain fades, and we rise
Turns out, some ghosts aren’t here to haunt—they’re just waiting for a proper goodbye.
NOTE: This is the 17th edition of the Live Out Loud series. To view the full series please visit the table of contents. Make sure you never miss an issue, hit the subscribe button below.
The Autumn of Realization
Recovery kicked off on an autumn morning. It feels almost poetic now. Crisp air, leaves turning colors. Change was in the air, echoing what was coming. Sitting there, on that park bench, light seeping through the trees, I watched leaves flutter down, one by one. They let go with no hesitation—a reminder, maybe, of what I had to do.
I'd come a long way. The path had been rough. Healing wasn’t a straight line, but I was moving forward. Sure, the discomfort still lingered, a quiet nagging, but it didn’t own me anymore.
My thoughts, once a wild storm, had calmed. They were like a still pond now.
But the past still clung to me, haunted by memories and missed chances. I knew, then, that the only way forward was to let go. Acknowledge it, make peace, but don’t let it hold me back. Keep going, no strings attached.
Confronting the Ghosts of the Past
Before, I buried those shadows. Hid them deep, way down where they couldn’t find me. But guess what? They found me anyway. Avoidance was useless.
It was time to face it all: the memories, the regrets, the “what ifs” that kept me up at night. Standing on the edge of it all, staring into the abyss of what once was, I knew there was no other way. That leap, terrifying as it was, had to happen.
So, I grabbed my journal. My constant companion, my silent witness. It held everything—my fears, my hopes, my darkest thoughts. Flipping through those pages, I relived it all. Some memories brought a flicker of a smile, others, a sharp pang. But with each memory revisited, the weight lifted. Slowly. I started seeing the past not as some haunting specter but as just another chapter. Part of my story, sure, but not the whole damn book.
The past is just one chapter. It doesn’t own the whole narrative.
I’ve changed. Evolved.
The “me” back then isn’t the “me” now.
I’ve grown into someone else, someone new.
With that clarity, I found the guts to forgive—myself, others, all of it. Holding onto that old bitterness only hurt me. Forgiveness wasn’t about them; it was about freeing myself. It was the balm for my scars, the key to breaking free from the past’s grip.
The Campfire of Release
As autumn hit its stride, with days dripping in color and nights cool enough to wake your senses, I tried something new: a letter-burning ritual. I’d heard it was a way to turn your pain into words, then set it free.
Let it all burn away.
One particular episode that continued to trouble me was dealing with betrayal. No matter how much reflecting, accepting, or forgiving I did, it just wouldn’t quit. So, I figured, let’s see if fire can handle what I couldn’t shake.
Dusk came, painting the sky in pink and purple, and I sat down by a campfire, my journal ready. The flames danced, shadows flickering like the turmoil inside me.
Perfect.
Time to face it.
I started writing, addressing the past, the person who cut deep, and the me that survived it all. Words flowed—raw, angry, hurt, confused. But in the mix, something else snuck in—understanding, growth, strength. Funny how that works.
Writing that letter was therapy on steroids. With every word, I could feel the bitterness drain out. It was heavy, yeah, but necessary. A step I couldn’t skip.
When I was done, I just sat there, holding the letter. Quiet. The fire crackled, the only sound. Then I read it out loud, slicing through old ties with every sentence. I was ready.
Then, the big moment. I held the letter to the flame. Watched the edges curl, blacken. I let it go. The fire ate my words, turned them to ash. And as the ashes drifted into the night, it felt like the universe was taking my sorrow and past with it.
Symbolic—sure. But it was real enough.
The fire didn’t just consume paper—it cleansed a part of me. Watching those ashes scatter brought a calm I hadn’t felt in years. Writing, speaking, burning—that was the process. A pivotal step in healing. It let me confront my pain, face it head-on, then let it go. The past wasn’t erased, but I was ready to move forward, lighter and free.
From that night on, the memories—betrayal, pain, all of it—started losing their grip. They didn’t disappear, but they stopped controlling me. They became markers, not chains.
That fire was a turning point. I let go of the past, opened up to the future, unburdened. Proof of my strength, my growth, and my commitment to moving on. Free.
The Winter of Forgiveness
As the colorful fall leaves transitioned to the first layer of winter's snow, I too underwent a deep change, mirroring the shift in seasons.
Every snowflake that descended mirrored my own path, representing a fresh start and revival, reflecting the natural and stunning progression of life.
Winter’s chill, once biting and harsh, now felt different. Invigorating, even. Like each gust was stripping away old layers, leaving me stronger.
The air, sharp as it was, didn’t cut—it healed.
Pain was still there, but dulled, soothed by the cold. I wasn’t running from the chill anymore; I was finding strength in it. My story was changing, evolving with each breath of frosty air.
The weight I carried started to break apart.
The cold seemed to shatter those burdens into something manageable, like ice cracking under the sun. Dark memories and old fears began shrinking under the winter light. They were losing their grip, fading more each day. I was slipping free, feeling lighter, like I could finally breathe.
With this newfound clarity, I realized something important: my past wasn’t the enemy. It wasn’t something to fight but to acknowledge. Embrace, even. Facing those old demons, I found a well of forgiveness I didn’t know I had.
The past is just that—the past.
I had faced it, burned through its lessons, and let the flames consume the sorrow. What remained wasn’t a ghost, but a chapter. One that shaped me, guided me here, to this place of understanding and healing.
The Lesson of the Past
Moving forward doesn’t mean ditching the past. It’s about snagging wisdom from those rough patches, using that intel to shape what’s next.
It’s a balancing act—cutting loose the junk, embracing what helped you grow, and making sure each step lands solid, no backpedaling.
One winter evening, with the sky dripping in orange and purple hues, something clicked. A quote I’d stumbled on ages ago floated back to me:
“The future can’t bloom until the past withers.”
Those words hit hard. My stubborn clutch on what was had been strangling what could be. That lightbulb moment showed me the truth: the past isn’t a ghost to haunt my future but a stepping stone, a foundation, something to build on—not to live in.
Standing there, wrapped in winter’s chill, I realized how far I’d come.
The past wasn’t a chain anymore; I was finally learning to live in the now. Those memories that used to sting were turning into lessons, the pain easing into understanding.
The quiet of that winter night matched the calm settling into my bones. This peace didn’t come from pretending the past didn’t happen; it came from accepting it, forgiving it, and releasing its hold on me. Moving forward, eyes ahead, not back.
My journey’s not over.
Challenges are lurking, no doubt.
But in that still, snowy moment, I knew I was ready.
I’d figured out how to move on, how to live in the moment, how to greet the future unburdened by the past. That’s my win—a victory over yesterday’s shadows, a promise to myself to keep pushing forward, no retreat, no surrender.
Embracing the Present
As winter reluctantly gave way to spring, the world began to shed its icy shell, unfurling into a riot of color and life. Tiny buds dared to sprout on once-bare branches, grass reclaimed its green glory, and the air buzzed with bees breaking free from winter’s grip. Nature’s rebirth mirrored something shifting inside me, too.
The ghosts of my past had softened. What once loomed like daunting shadows had faded into something more manageable. Like an old photograph—edges frayed, colors faded, yet still holding memories worth keeping.
The hurt, betrayal, sadness, their sting had dulled, but the lessons they left were crystal clear. Those hard-won insights had toughened into armor, ready to face life’s curveballs. Hard to earn, but worth every bit.
The past, that old familiar playground, no longer held me captive. I found myself pulled into the vivid now, soaking in life’s details that once slipped by unnoticed.
The gentle morning sun, spilling gold across the sky, warming my skin.
Pure magic.
The rustle of leaves, turning into a symphony as the wind teased the trees, swaying them into its playful rhythm.
A concert just for me.
Even the distant tunes from a neighbor’s radio, something I’d ignored before, now stirred something inside, layering my days with unexpected emotion.
No longer shackled by yesterday, I became the architect of my today. Moving through life with intention, each step a stride away from who I was, each breath drawing me closer to what could be.
The future, a mystery still, but bursting with potential—waiting for me to paint it with the colors of my choosing.
The Power of Self-Compassion
This journey of transformation taught me one thing: self-kindness isn’t optional.
It’s a lifeline.
I learned to soothe my own soul in rough times, to be my own anchor when life threw curveballs. Sure, old memories would sometimes crash the party, ripping open old wounds, testing the fragile balance I’d worked so hard to find. But in those moments, I leaned into patience—realizing healing isn’t some straight road.
It’s a wild ride, full of twists, turns, and unexpected detours.
Healing is a process. No map, no GPS.
It took me through landscapes I never imagined—some beautiful, some barren. There were days I felt lost, drifting back into old pain, revisiting places I thought I’d left behind.
But you know what?
Those setbacks weren’t roadblocks. They were pit stops.
Time to reflect, regroup, and gear up for the next leg of the journey.
Writing and my online tribe became lifesavers. Writing let me unpack my thoughts, share my story, and connect with others on a level that mattered. It became my therapy, my outlet—a way to turn struggles into something tangible, something I could manage and, eventually, celebrate.
And then there was TikTok.
Yeah, TikTok.
A whole community out there, sharing stories, showing empathy, and proving we’re all a lot tougher than we think. Every story I read, every message of support—it hit home. It reminded me that I wasn’t walking this path alone. Others were out there, battling their own demons, pushing forward.
That shared resilience was like fuel. A powerful reminder that while our journeys might be different, we’re all part of this massive, collective push toward something better. We’re all in this together, each of us moving forward in our own way, forging ahead, scars and all.
An Idea Was Born
In the warmth of community support, the idea for "Trigger Warning III: A Guided Shadow Work Journal for Letting Go of Emotional Pain" started to take shape.
I realized the steps I’d taken to heal could also help others.
Take the letter-burning ceremony, for instance—a ritual I’d used to shed emotional baggage. Writing down your pain, then watching it go up in flames, wasn’t just cathartic. It was a powerful reset, a way to clear the emotional slate and make space for something better.
Meditation and positive affirmations were game-changers too. They helped me tune in, treat myself with the kindness I’d often reserved for others. These weren’t just feel-good practices; they were lifelines. And as I thought more about it, I saw how much I had to offer—tools, stories, wisdom, all carved out of my own experience.
That’s when "Trigger Warning III" really started to evolve. It wasn’t just a journal; it became a toolkit, a collection of proven methods, personal musings, and therapeutic exercises designed to guide others through their healing. I saw it as more than just pages bound together. It was a companion, a spark of hope, a guide for those trying to find their way out of the darkness.
Creating "Trigger Warning III" became intertwined with my own recovery. Every page, every activity, every word was written with a deep understanding of what it means to suffer, to fight, and to heal.
My mission was clear: to share what had helped me move forward, to offer it to others who might be on the same road, grappling with their own battles.
I wanted them to know they weren’t alone, that the past didn’t have to keep its hold on them, and that even though the road ahead might be rough, it was one they could walk. And conquer.
Accepting the Past, Embracing the Future
Spring didn’t just arrive; it mirrored my own growth. The snow melted, blossoms bloomed, and somewhere in that process, I found my own renewal. Progress wasn’t about erasing pain but learning to weather those emotional storms that still rolled in.
Sure, there were days when sadness hit hard.
Days when old betrayals and faded love felt like weights I couldn’t shake.
Some mornings, I’d wake up feeling like I’d just survived an emotional hurricane, with old scars aching faintly. But gradually, those moments lost their power. They weren’t the immovable walls they used to be—just bumps in the road. Not roadblocks, just hurdles. Signs that the rough terrain was something I could handle.
This emotional journey wasn’t a straight line. It had its dips and peaks. But every stumble taught me a little more about what I could endure, about how much strength I had in reserve. Every wave of sorrow became a pause button—a chance to reflect, to understand, to grow. These weren’t setbacks; they were moments of clarity.
Each tear, each exhale, lightened the load I’d been dragging around.
As the seasons shifted, so did I. No longer trapped by old wounds, I was evolving—stronger, wiser, ready for whatever was next. The past still whispered in the background, but its voice had faded.
It wasn’t calling the shots anymore.
Setting Sail Towards New Beginnings
The closing of this chapter wasn’t the end; it was a pivot. Learning how to move forward without slipping back taught me one thing: acceptance. I learned to see the scars etched on my soul as part of my journey, not something to erase. I stared down the shadows of my past, confronted those old ghosts, and realized they no longer held power over me.
And then it hit me: my past had shaped me, yes, but it didn’t own me.
Who I’d become was up to me. My past didn’t get to write my story; I did.
This phase of growth wasn’t easy. It was messy, full of doubt, discomfort, and confusion. But it was also freeing, like shedding an old skin. Every bit of pain I released, every tear I shed, was like cutting another thread holding me back, letting me stretch out and take flight in the wide-open now.
I felt like a ship finally lifting anchor, leaving a harbor that once sheltered but had become a cage. Heading into uncharted waters, driven by the winds of change, guided by the stars of hope, resilience, and self-love.
The journey is uncertain, with challenges at every turn.
But my heart is solid. And my soul is ready.
Ready to face whatever storms or treasures lay ahead.
The past stopped looming over me like a dark cloud. It became a distant shore, visible but fading with every wave that pushed me forward. This voyage wasn’t just about healing; it was about discovery—finding the real me beneath the layers of hurt and disappointment. It was a journey of learning, growing, and, most importantly, moving forward.
—Ryan Puusaari
P.S. Your time and engagement with this edition mean a lot. Every reader adds value to our journey together. Thank you for being here!
P.P.S. “In every shadow, there is a source of light. Embrace your inner darkness, and you will find your own illuminating truth.”
Stepping into yourself—bold move. Props to you for that.
But don’t kid yourself; this isn’t a one-and-done deal. It’s a relentless trek inward, and trust me, it never really stops, just shifts and twists with time.
And to give you a hand, here’s something I’m stoked about: the 365-Day Shadow Work Series. Think of it as your deep dive into self—no fluff, just real, raw reflection.
This series doesn’t play around.
It throws you into the thick of it, with pointed questions that push you through the muck of sadness, self-doubt, and grudges.
Every page, crafted to steer you, challenge you, and yeah, maybe even break you open a little. It’s not just a journal—it’s your new ritual in self-discovery.
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