What a Wild Life to Be Living While I’m Trying to Heal

By Rylin Rossano

Jul 09, 2025

There’s something nobody tells you about chasing your dreams while your nervous system is fraying and your heart’s a little broken and your body isn’t cooperating.

They don’t tell you how strange it is to be the girl with the vision and the vertigo. To be signing books one moment and curled in bed with your heating pad the next. To be writing poetry about healing while quietly praying your heart doesn’t shatter mid-sentence

They don’t tell you how wild it is to go viral on TikTok and still feel like your Instagram isn’t “growing fast enough.”

How sometimes you can pour your whole soul into a post—caption, graphics, deep breath and all—and watch it get buried by the algorithm like it never mattered.

You tell yourself: “I’m grateful. I am.”

And you are. But you’re also mad.

Because you’ve worked for this.

Because you’re not just creating content—you’re surviving while you do it.

Because you’re not here for validation, but you are here to reach people. And it hurts when your reach doesn’t reach.

It’s not about numbers.

And also?

It is.

I’ve thought about this a lot.

About why it feels like I’m shouting into the void sometimes, even as people are holding my book, reposting my reels, saying, “You changed something in me.”

I want more people to see it—not for me, but for the girls like me.

The ones living in limbo.

The ones loving people who don’t show up.

The ones with POTS flares and grief spirals and an Amazon cart full of dreams.

I want them to know:

This is what healing actually looks like.

It’s not always romantic.

It’s messy. It’s slow. It’s skipped calls and cracked mirrors and long naps you didn’t plan.

It’s crying in the Walmart parking lot and then remembering, Wait… I’m an author.

I wrote a book.

I survived myself.

And some days, that still doesn’t feel like enough.

Because we live in a world where burnout is trendy and overexposure is rewarded.

And I’m trying to build a brand that’s honest. That’s soft. That still lets me breathe.

Sometimes, I want to be the sunshine everyone sees in me.

But sometimes, I’m just the storm.

And I’m learning both are worthy of love.

This life?

It’s holy. It’s hard. It’s healing.

It’s putting one foot in front of the other even when your blood pressure is tanking and your heart is racing and you’re scared no one sees you for real.

But I do.

And maybe that’s enough for today.

Because I believe in softness.

I believe in stories.

I believe in building something beautiful while your hands are still shaking.

I’m not always okay.

But I’m always honest.

And I’m still here.

Writing my way through it.

Loving my way through it.

Healing in public, even when it hurts.

If you’re here too—hurting but hopeful—stay.