Through the Void | The Weird In-Between of Emotional Healing

Here I sit.

The tendrils of the past still reaching for me,

brushing my skin like ghost hands,

reminding me of the love I gave,

The hope I carried,

The wreckage I survived.

I feel them, those threads of heartbreak,

still trying to curl themselves around my ankles,

Pull me back into what is known,

What is broken,

What is over.

But I am moving.

Step by uncertain step.

Into the vast unknown.

It’s not darkness,

Not exactly.

It’s fog.

Thick. Heavy. Empty.

A void stretching wide before me,

yet somehow alive beneath its stillness.

I feel it crackling beneath my skin.

Sparks of hope. Jolts of life.

Sometimes so sharp I shake from the inside out,

and then? Silence again. Emptiness again.

The quiet hum of nothing

Where chaos used to sing.

I walk through it anyway.

Trepidation in my chest.

Grief still stitched into the fabric of my bones.

Uncertain of where I’m headed.

Unsure of who I’m becoming.

And if I’m honest,

some days I miss the weight of the past.

Some days, I ache for the familiarity of heartbreak’s chains.

At least then, I knew their shape.

I knew my role.

I knew how to bleed.

But inch by inch, breath by breath,

I press forward.

Through the void inside my soul.

Through the ache of absence.

Through the numbness of after.

Because something calls to me from beyond this fog.

Something ancient. Something holy.

Something stitched from starlight and survival.

Divine sirens, whispering my name.

Calling me home.

Not to someone else.

Not to some future I can’t yet see.

But to myself.

To the light buried beneath the rubble.

To the woman I am becoming,

untethered, whole, radiant.

This is the path.

Not away from the void,

but through it.

Through the ache,

through the questions,

through the unbearable quiet

into the pulse of my own creating.

I walk forward.

Not quickly. Not cleanly. Not without fear.

But I walk.

And I trust,

inch by inch,

day by breathless day,

that this fog will lift.

And when it does,

I will meet myself there.

Blazing.

Unbroken.

Free.

Indelible.

By Katherine Tatsuda

Katherine Tatsuda writes from the fire. Grief, loss, betrayal, survival, and from the quiet power of what comes after. Her work is rooted in radical vulnerability, emotional growth, and the conversations most leaders and speakers avoid. She is the voice behind Reinvention Modeled, where clarity becomes strategy and healing becomes authenticity.