Since I’ve been in a place where it is possible to heal, I’ve grown so much and changed. Healing has been such a painful, yet relieving part of my life. Over the last year and some change, I have devoted so much of my life to healing and growing.
I read books about healing. I pray and devote time to being in the Bible. I’m in therapy. I’m in recovery meetings. I write about healing. I journal. I go out with friends. I workout. I reflect, process, examine patterns, name wounds. I try and understand my past and how it has shaped me. I allow myself to change. I keep community around me. I keep plugged into church, meetings, therapy, etc. I’m intentional with my energy and mental space.
All of this has mattered. All of it has allowed me to grow and heal in ways I never knew possible.
A question that stopped me
A while back my therapist asked me something:
“What do you do for you? What area of your life isn’t devoted to healing and isn’t centered on your past and your growth? When do you give your mind a break?”
I was challenged by this because I hadn’t really given my mind a lot of rest from it. Even when I wasn’t actively doing something healing related, my mind was there. Whether I was drawing, exercising, or working, it was on my mind.
“You need areas and spaces for your mind to rest; where you’re not thinking about all this.”
She was right. I had no idea how to begin this. I was so excited about healing and growing and finally doing the work that I wasn’t sure how to turn that part of my brain off.
I need(ed) parts of my life that don’t revolve around healing at all.
Not because I’m all healed now.
Not because I’m avoiding the work.
Not because I’m over it and the past no longer matters.
But because my life can’t be centered on healing or pain.
When Healing Becomes Everything
There was a season where healing felt urgent. Necessary. Like Survival. Like breaking free.
Healing was incredibly exciting if I’m being honest.
And in that season, it made sense that everything pointed back to it. Everything became a healing opportunity. Every emotion, every interaction, every memory, every quiet moment. If something stirred in me, I wanted to trace it. Name it. Understand where it came from and what it meant.
My brain not turning off wasn’t something new for me; I had trouble turning it off since childhood. Always thinking and analyzing, reading moods and behaviors, anticipating.
So, when I began this healing journey, the shift in my mind coming out of survival mode and into healing, while consuming, felt productive and empowering.
I wasn’t doing all the work, all the time, because it was “work.” This felt like an exciting opportunity for me. I wanted it. I couldn’t get enough.
Can someone get addicted to healing?
It felt like momentum and my mind didn’t know how to turn it off… Still doesn’t sometimes.
I was desperate to understand my mind, myself more, how everything connected, and how to move and heal.
Everything was an opportunity. Everything. Going out with friends was healing, enjoying my coffee in peace, reading books, working out, sleeping, eating, serving in recovery and church spaces… all the day to day things were things to reflect on, notice, and even celebrate. They look small to anyone passing by, but to me it meant healing and freedom.
Like I said, it felt empowering. I was proud of myself. I was doing it.
However, over time, I noticed something. Coming up, I was hyper-vigilant and hyper-engaged about what was going on around me, reading for danger. That habit and mechanism had just altered forms. Now I was hyper-engaged, but instead of looking for danger, I was looking for progress and healing. I know that sounds odd.
My therapist pointed out something important:
“You got out of the toxic environment. You got yourself safe and away from what held you all your life. But by you not giving your mind a rest your still being held by the same thing you left, even if it looks different.”
Despite all the healthy habits and healing I was doing, one thing was still the same. I couldn’t turn my mind off.
I needed to figure out how to turn my mind off from it for a while. I needed to give my mind a rest.
I had assumed I was resting it. I was sleeping a lot more, getting solid nights of sleep, taking naps regularly. However, while very important, it’s not the same as letting something restful and peaceful occupy my mind.
My mind stayed “on” all the time. Even good moments became something to analyze. Even rest carried a layer of reflection. Even joy came with commentary.
Not because I was doing something wrong.
But because my nervous system hadn’t learned how to settle yet.
Even when I was living, my mind was still processing
Here’s what I realized. I wasn’t avoiding healing when I did normal life things.
I could hike, draw, clean, laugh, cook, talk to friends, read something light, and still be thinking about healing the whole time. My mind would turn everything into an opportunity to understand myself better.
It wasn’t denial. It wasn’t suppression. It wasn’t me “not doing the work.”
It was simply that I couldn’t turn the work off.
And that’s why I started to understand the difference between doing something relaxing, and actually giving your mind neutral input.
Because you can be doing something peaceful on the outside, and still be mentally running laps on the inside.
The nervous system needs non-healing space
When you’ve lived in survival mode, your mind learns to stay alert. Always scanning. Always connecting dots. Always watching for threat or meaning.
Healing teaches us how to understand that.
But living teaches us how to rest from it.
Creative flow, movement, nature, and play can regulate the body without interrogation. They offer safety without explanation. They remind you that you are more than your wounds and more than your growth.
Neutral input matters because it gives the brain a break from meaning-making. Not because you’re ignoring the hard things, but because you’re letting your system learn what calm feels like without having to earn it.
Healing integrates better when the body feels safe enough to stop analyzing.
Things that don’t need to mean anything
I’m intentionally making space for things that don’t teach me anything about myself. This is difficult but I’m trying to be intentional about it.
And one thing I’ve noticed is this. When I was in survival mode, I used music to escape. To tune out. To avoid.
Now, I’m having to use some of the same things for almost the opposite reason. Not to avoid my healing, but to keep my mind from wandering right back into analysis mode. To give myself true neutral input. To let my brain rest.
For me, that looks like:
- Drawing
- Hiking
- Being outside
- Working out
- Cranking up the music
- Dancing, even if it’s just a little. Baby steps.
Not everything needs to be meaningful.
Not everything needs to be productive.
Not everything needs to point back to pain.
Some things are allowed to just be life.
This doesn’t replace healing. It balances it.
I’m not quitting healing.
I’m not dismissing what I’ve been through.
I’m not pretending the past doesn’t exist.
I’m widening my life.
For a long time, healing and living felt synonymous to me. Healing truly looked like living. If I was learning, processing, praying, and growing, I felt like I was doing life the right way. I also felt like because I was healing, I was truly finally able to live. And in many ways, that was true.
But I’m learning there needs to be a distinction. Not because healing isn’t life, but because life also needs room to simply be lived, without always turning inward.
Healing is part of my story, but it doesn’t get to be the whole thing.
I don’t want to build a life where pain stays at the center, even when I’m working on it. I want a life where healing is integrated, supported, and sometimes gently set aside so I can simply live.
If this resonates
If you’ve been deep in healing work and your mind feels tired in a way rest hasn’t fixed, this might be for you.
Ask yourself:
- What gives my brain quiet
- What helps my body settle
- What doesn’t invite analysis
Choose one thing this week that has no emotional purpose.
No lesson. No reflection. No meaning required.
Sometimes the most healing thing isn’t digging deeper.
It’s remembering how to live alongside the healing.