Last week, my Facebook alerted me with a TimeHop memory that really shook me up. Typically, as sentimental as I can be at times, I don’t actually give much thought to these virtual flashbacks. The post was from seven years ago though, and perhaps that’s why I opened it and perhaps that’s why I keep stirring in it.

Scientists who study cell biology have come to find that cells from the human body are continually dying and replacing themselves all the time. The cells do this at different rates, depending on what part of the body they are coming from as well as various external stimuli they encounter. Although they do this at different rates, there reaches a point that all cells have been replaced, and some scientists argue this point to be at the seven year mark. So, in other words, every seven years a person can be virtually brand new.

Seven years ago, on September 14, I made a post on Facebook about domestic abuse. My post included information on how to help those who you may believe are being victimized and things to look for to potentially identify victimization moving forward. My post clung to the idea of hope for those who had been victimized, stating that surely it is possible to leave the darkness and forever find your face in the sun.

I’d be lying if I said that I actually believed that last part at the time of my post. I wanted to believe it though. I wanted to believe that I wouldn’t always feel as broken as I did then. As unlovable. As scared.

This year, on September 14, I celebrated my one year wedding anniversary with my amazing husband. The day was busy in the organized chaos type of way because that’s just the phase of life we’re in right now, so unfortunately we did not get to spend all that much time together during the day. In the time we were together though, he pulled me close in a tight embrace that made me feel secure. He kissed my lips softly and when he told me he would see me later I felt excitement. He waited up for me and made me dinner, showing me he wanted to take care of me. We lied in bed talking and I felt joy, and some even bubbled out of me in the form of laughter. He pulled me in and held me close to his chest and I felt safe.

All were seemingly ordinary actions that might even sound boring or mundane to some people, but I would say that the people who think that are perhaps luckier than they realize. Even my husband. My husband’s actions came without careful consideration as his actions are truly just an overflow of his heart. All of it was highly impactful to me though. In the midst of the ordinary, the mundane, the usual and the day-to-day I was able to feel things that I at one point thought that I would never feel again.

I felt whole. Loved. Safe.

Although the theory of cellular rebirth and replacement is still disputed and more research is still needed to solidify an exact number, seven years seems spot on to me. After seven years, I feel brand new.