I wrote Hurt By My Healing after a series of conversations that changed the shape of a relationship I cared deeply about.
It came from that strange, painful realisation that choosing peace doesn’t always look peaceful from the outside. That sometimes the work of healing — setting boundaries, speaking honestly, stepping back — can hurt the people who are used to the old version of you. Not because you’re doing something wrong, but because you’re no longer meeting them where you once did.
The song lives in that tension. The space between love and distance. Between growth and grief.
Sonically, I wanted it to feel gentle and grounded — something that moves forward without force. The groove carries it, steady and unshowy, while layers of harmony and soft textures drift in and out like thoughts you don’t quite want to finish having. There’s warmth there, but also restraint. Nothing overstated. Nothing resolved too quickly.
This song isn’t about blame. It’s about misunderstanding. About how healing can be misread as abandonment, and calm can be mistaken for coldness. It’s about the quiet cost of choosing yourself when that choice changes how you’re seen.
Hurt By My Healing is for anyone who’s had to grieve a version of closeness that couldn’t survive their growth — and for anyone learning that peace, however gently chosen, can still leave bruises behind.