The Unraveling: Healing Through Stories and Poetry

Explore powerful narratives and poetry that illuminate childhood traumas, spiritual deconstruction, and healing journeys through authentic, raw expression.

The Journey Begins Here

Welcome…

This is how it started.

It began with a whisper—a quiet stirring inside that refused to be silenced.
A handful of scattered thoughts, a trembling heart, and a pen that felt like a lifeline.

In the spaces between chaos and stillness, I found my voice.
Not in grand declarations, but in the fragile truth of unraveling.

Each word written became a step toward healing,
a bridge from the shadows of the past to the possibility of becoming whole.

This journey isn’t linear or tidy. It’s raw, uncertain, and deeply human—
and it’s one I share with you, in the hope that somewhere in these pages,
you’ll find a quiet place to land.

Step inside, take your time.
Here, you’ll find stories and poems that hold space for the broken and the brave,
reflections that honor the messy, sacred work of becoming.

This is more than a blog—it’s a shared journey,
a quiet gathering of souls seeking light, meaning, and connection.

Welcome to theunraveling.ca.
You are not alone here.

Meagan

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theunraveling.ca

  • Made for Freedom

    I was living in three worlds.Each one demanded a different version of me. There was my inner world—soft but questioning, endlessly curious.A world where I felt things deeply,asked the hard questions,wondered about the stars and the souland what it really meant to be good.This part of me whispered: There’s more. Then there was my school world—where I…

    CONTINUE READING: Made for Freedom
  • Not Fading, Not Shining

    High school is where people reinvent themselves.Where we experiment, evolve,fade into the background orstep into the spotlight.There are cliques,crowds,friend groups that form like constellations—bright and distant.People dress to express themselves,to speak their truth without saying a word. But I couldn’t do that. I was different—not by choice. My difference wasn’t a statement.It wasn’t an identity…

    CONTINUE READING: Not Fading, Not Shining
  • The Peephole

    Every promised heaven has walls. White silk covered the entire room. The walls were carefully draped in it—no holes where nails could’ve been, just folds tucked neatly under the corners. The room was smooth as silk. No imperfections. No furniture save a pillowy soft bed, the right length for a teenage body to lay comfortably…

    CONTINUE READING: The Peephole