“The Burning Comes First”

by Emily | Ash and Bloom

Yes, you will rise from the ashes,

but the burning comes first.

For this part, darling,

you must be brave.

— Kalen Dion

I used to think healing would come quietly.

That if I was faithful enough, gentle enough, good enough—the hard things would melt away in time. That I could sidestep the pain if I prayed right. That I could outrun the unraveling by working harder, loving better, managing more.

But it doesn’t work like that.

Healing is not soft at first.

It’s fire.

And the fire doesn’t ask for permission. It burns what no longer belongs. It scorches the illusions, the codependency, the crutches you didn’t know you were leaning on. It takes the versions of you that were pleasing, performing, surviving—and burns them down to the bone.

And it hurts.

My God, it hurts.

But it’s not cruelty.

It’s mercy.

I didn’t know I needed to fall apart.

I didn’t know I needed to sob in a stolen moment or yell in a locked closet in a locked room or say no to things that once made me feel loved.

I didn’t know I was allowed to let go of roles I had outgrown.

I didn’t know motherhood could break me before it built me.

But it did.

It still does.

And the truth is, sometimes the burning is the only way through.

And yet—

after the burning comes the bloom.

Not always quickly and not always clearly.

But slowly, life returns.

The woman who rises from the ashes isn’t the same one who stood in the flames.

She’s quieter. Truer.

Less polished. More real.

And she knows now: bravery doesn’t mean pretending you’re not breaking.

It means knowing you’re burning, but walking through the fire anyway.

So if you’re standing in it—

if you’re in the part where everything is smoke and heat and grief and letting go

I see you and you are not failing.

You are not being punished.

You are being remade and when it’s time,

you will rise.

With you in the fire,

Emily

Ash and Bloom