The Unexpected Side Effect of Healing Nobody Talks About

Why does it feel like you need to catch a break sometimes?

I'm a massive overthinker. I get bored easily, frustrated by the mundane, and sometimes find it difficult to see the wood through the trees. There are days when I feel as though I'm spiralling out of control while achieving absolutely nothing at the same time.

A small thing arriving at the wrong moment can suddenly feel huge. Heavy. Impossible to shake off.

When I get into that headspace, expression helps. Writing, a change of scenery, a good conversation, a distraction, a giggle. Anything that gets me out of my own head for a while.

And yet sometimes, doing nothing at all feels like the right thing too.

Lately, I've been reflecting on something nobody really tells you about healing.

We talk a lot about healing as if it's a destination. As if one day you'll wake up and the pain will be gone, the triggers will have vanished, and everything will feel peaceful forever.

But that hasn't been my experience. I've realised that healing isn't always the absence of pain. Sometimes healing means becoming more aware of what hurts.

A wound may no longer be open, but it can still be raw. Something a brush against it unexpectedly and suddenly you're feeling an emotion you thought you'd already dealt with. Loneliness you didn't know was there. Frustration that catches you off guard. An outburst that seems to come from nowhere.

Not because you're broken, but because you're human.

There are moments when I feel peaceful, grounded and trusting. Moments when surrender comes naturally. Then something happens and I'm right back in the discomfort again, learning the same lesson from a slightly different angle.

Healing can feel exhausting, isolating, frustrating, affirming and motivating all at the same time.

The contradiction of it all is what I find hardest to explain.

At the same time as doing the inner work, life continues.

There are children to raise, work to show up for, responsibilities to carry, relationships to nurture, memories to make, meals to cook and endless to-do lists demanding attention.

Sometimes the pressure of trying to heal whilst also trying to live well can feel overwhelming.

To be present enough for my children.

To do a good job at work.

To be a good friend.

To enjoy my life rather than constantly analysing it.

It's a lot.

One thing I've learned about myself is that I feel deeply. I naturally try to understand people. I look for the reasons behind behaviour and often find myself extending compassion long before I've considered what I need.

That's one of my greatest strengths but it's also one of my greatest challenges.

I used to think being strong meant handling everything myself. Recently, though, I've started leaning more on the people around me. Friends, family. and the people who genuinely care.

I've realised that connection isn't weakness, we're not meant to carry everything alone. In fact, some of the most healing moments have come from allowing people to support me rather than trying to be strong all the time.

At the same time, I've also been learning the difference between healthy support and dependency.

A recent romantic connection gave me a huge wake-up call.

Not because the feelings weren't real. They were.

But looking back, I can see there were times when I gave that connection too much responsibility for how I felt.

Of course it's okay to lean on someone you care about. We all need support sometimes and relationships are supposed to provide comfort, reassurance and safety.

The problem comes when someone else's presence becomes the thing that determines your peace.

When their silence dictates your mood.

When their attention determines your worth.

When you're looking to them to soothe something only you can really heal.

Until at breaking point, I pulled back. My nervous system said "that's enough".

And something surprising happened.

I found peace and love - I found myself again.

I remembered that my happiness wasn't actually dependent on another person.

More recently, I felt guided to reach out from a place of compassion. Not from fear, not from chasing, but from genuine care.

And then... nothing.

Silence.

For a while, I thought perhaps the lesson was learning how to set boundaries.

Now I think it's something deeper than that.

The boundary wasn't the hard part, it's holding it when it's tested.

It's sitting with the silence. Sitting with uncertainty.

Sitting with the urge to reach out again, explain yourself again, fix things again, just to relieve the discomfort.

Maybe the lesson isn't waiting for someone to come back.

Maybe the lesson is continuing your life regardless.

Trusting that you've done your part.

Trusting that connection requires two people.

Trusting that you cannot do all the work on behalf of someone else.

I've spent a lot of time worrying that I've said the wrong thing, wondering whether I should send another message, questioning whether I should do more.

But perhaps growth looks like something much simpler. Perhaps growth is sitting with the uncomfortable feelings and allowing them to be there.

Knowing that I have been kind. Knowing that I have been honest. Knowing that I have done everything I can, for now.

And letting the rest go. Not because I don't care. Not because I've gone cold. But because my peace deserves protecting too.

Maybe that's what healing really is. Not becoming unaffected. Not becoming detached. Not needing anyone. But learning that you can care deeply for others without abandoning yourself.

And if that's the lesson, then perhaps I'm exactly where I need to be. ❤️

mannersjoanne@gmail.com

07564 671135

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