Returning to a Place That Once Held My Pain

The last time I was in Masterton was 2021.

It was a random road trip one of those unplanned moments that end up carrying more weight than you expect.

Back then, this place wasn’t just a location on a map.
It was a battleground.

Masterton held memories tied to toxic patterns, anxiety, and survival. My nervous system didn’t feel safe here. Every street, every familiar corner carried an invisible charge. My body would tense before my mind could catch up. Hypervigilance lived in my bones. I didn’t have the language for it then, but I was living in constant survival mode.

At that time in my life, I was still entangled in cycles that kept me small. I was disconnected from myself, trying to endure instead of heal. I didn’t realise how much of my energy was spent just getting through the day.

Four years have passed since then.

In that time, I left domestic violence.
And in doing so, I didn’t just leave a relationship I left a version of myself that had learned to survive at all costs.

Life now looks very different.
I am very different.

Returning to Masterton recently, I noticed something that felt both subtle and profound. The triggers were still there, but they no longer had the same grip on me. My body didn’t react the way it once did. The tight chest, the racing thoughts, the urge to escape it was quieter.

What once felt heavy felt softer.
What once hurt no longer defined me.

This is the part of healing we don’t talk about enough. Healing isn’t always dramatic. Sometimes it’s quiet. Sometimes it’s noticing what doesn’t happen anymore. The absence of panic. The ease in your breath. The way your body no longer braces for impact.

Instead of reliving the past, I created new memories here. I laughed. I felt present. I felt grounded. I moved through the same place with a completely different nervous system, one that knows safety now.

And when I left, I felt something I never imagined I would associate with this place
closure.

Not because the past disappeared. Not because what happened no longer mattered. But because it no longer lived inside my body the same way.

Sometimes healing isn’t about erasing the past.
It’s about being able to stand in the same places and realise you’re no longer who you once were.

It’s about recognising your growth not through perfection, but through regulation. Through boundaries. Through the quiet confidence that comes from knowing you survived and then chose to heal.

This place no longer owns my story.
I do.