I’m Gonna Stop Healing

Three and a half years ago I was living in what could, generously, be called a nightmare. It was my sophomore year at college, and everything had just begun returning to normal(ish) after COVID. I was still, at this time, an engineering student. 

The only problem was, I actually wasn’t an engineering student. I was a pile of bones that couldn’t move from my bed. I would have a panic attack, recover, have a panic, attack, recover. I became convinced if I left my room I would loose control of my body and mistakenly hurt others. 

Very occasionally I would make an appearance in class. It became a joke with my friends - omg, Meena came to class today! They didn’t know anything was wrong because one becomes excellent at making sure that nobody knows when things are wrong. I will handle it myself. I won’t be a bother. 

Even though I never showed up to class, I soullessly stayed on top of my assignments in those sacred periods between the panic cycle. I kept, with overwhelming bursts of exertion, a B average performance. Good enough. I warned you. I’m a pretty good puppeteer of my life when I don’t want to be living it.

This exposition could serve as the beginning of many narratives that have since occurred, but today I have a specific one on my mind. Those moments, laying in the purity of panic with slight glimpses of real life tricking in, forced me to face myself for the first time. Over the next few years I went to more therapy than most people probably will in their lifetime. I confronted my life-threateningly severe PTSD, and all its cooccurring cousins.

For three and a half years I became obsessed with healing. I had to. It was the only way I was going to make it. I had rework my brain, my beliefs, my habits, my self talk, my medication regime all day, every single day, for years. And, with the support of some very wonderful people, I did it. I’m not “better”, because I don’t think that having a cerebral reaction to prolonged trauma means you’re sick in the first place. I’m not “better”, because clearly I’m still a fairly strange soul to be writing something like this in the first place. But I’m far more regulated, equipped to cope with symptoms as the arise, happier, healthier, more authentic, and believe that I can and will live the life that I desire regardless of what happened in the past. That is no small feat, and I’m grateful and proud I made it here.

Obsessive healing was my American Dream moment. I lifted myself up by the bootstraps and learned to take a human in incredible pain and teach her to love herself and the world again. My obsession with “making it” got me here.

I respect, and am deeply grateful for the obsessiveness. But I have come to realize that an obsessive state is not meant to be lived through forever. My obsession with healing is kind of like hustle culture: there is nothing wrong with taking a limited timeframe and deciding that, with precision and great intention, you are going to put your all into something. But if the obsession lasts forever, what was once a tool becomes self-directed violence. 

At this time in my life context, I’m afraid if I continue to obsess over healing I’m starting to tell myself that I endlessly must be fixed, that all the fixing must be done right now, and that we must rush to do it. I’m saying I’m not enough, I’m never enough, keep tinkering and toying until I’m perfect. But I’m not perfect. I’m just a person.

I end my obsession here today. I obsessively healed to bring myself to a place that I could reasonably function and pursue those things that a 23 year old woman might feel endeared to. It is with enormous gratitude that I can say the initial purpose of my obsession has expired now. We made it.

The thing with trauma is that it makes you feel like you’re not enough, because the things that happened to you mean that you don’t know, see, or do life quite like everyone else. We can’t let endless healing become another way for trauma to convince us we’re not worthy. We decide when we heal and what we heal. There becomes a point when obsessive healing just becomes a scammy thought telling you if you just work hard enough you can take the crumpled paper your life is and make it perfectly smooth again. Well, I can spoil the ending for you now before you go to all that trouble. You were never crumpled. And, despite appearances, there’s no such thing as perfectly smooth.

I will never stop working on myself, bringing more love to my mind, body, and soul. But the days of overwhelming obsession are over. I ran the marathon, and now I’m retiring. Now, I only run for fun. 

Hugs on your journey my loves,

Meena