Healing Is Not Linear. And That’s Okay.

Healing has a destination. At least, that’s what most of us believe.

When you get sick, you follow the required treatment, and one day you wake up healed. Fixed.

For many physical illnesses, that path more or less holds. The clearer the cause/cure, the easier it is to heal “linearly.”

But there is a category of illness that doesn’t follow this rule: mental illness.

Mental illnesses are the narwhals of diseases. They exist in the ICD (International Classification of Diseases), yet we still find ourselves questioning if they’re real.

From my experience, they are.

I’ve had my fair share. And I was fortunate enough to find the support and the courage needed to seek help. So I did. I followed the treatment, I did the work, and I knew, because my doctor told me from the start, that it would take time.

Okay, fine. Let it take the time it needs. Because one day, once I’ve done all the work, once I reach the end of the path, I will wake up and feel “fixed.” Calm. Certain. Free from the panic, the anxiety, the overthinking, the weight of things I didn’t fully understand at the time.

And for a while, it seemed true.

There were periods where I felt better. Stronger, clearer, more in control. I thought, "This is it, I’ve finally moved past it."

But then it came back. Not always in the same way, not always as intense, but enough to make me question everything again. Enough to make me feel like I had somehow failed.

I remember the first time the monster came back, after I truly believed I was “healed.”

It was at a big party that a friend took me to. I knew no one. It was underground, loud, dark, and filled with flashing lights. Perfect, in retrospect, as a recipe for disaster.

And disaster did come.

I remember searching for the nearest wall, pressing my back against it, trying to ground myself by feeling the cold surface under my palms… nothing.

I ran out. I don’t even remember if I told my friend I was leaving. I just ran back to her apartment (I was visiting her in another city) and cried into a pillow… at 27.

I knew already back then that I wasn’t crying because that happened. I was crying because that happened after I thought I was… yeah... healed.

My healing journey would last seven more years, but that night was the first time I understood that my path would never lead to a neat “completion” door. That, along the way, there would be many “one step forward, two steps back” moments.

If my memory serves me right, I texted a friend that night, and he said, “These things come back.”

Great, I thought.

A few more similar experiences later, I finally made peace with something I had been resisting. Healing does not move in a straight line. It loops. It pauses. It surprises you.

Sometimes, it brings you back to things you thought you had already worked through. Not because you’re back at the beginning, but because you’re seeing them from a different place, as a different version of yourself.

There were times I wished I could separate my life from my struggles. To build, to work, to move forward without carrying any of it. But that’s not how it works.

The deeper you dig, the darker it can get. But because I kept doing the work, because I kept showing up for myself, because I built the support system I needed, I also became more capable of facing those darker parts.

You show up on the good days AND on the difficult ones. You create, you connect, you keep going, even when things feel uncertain again. Trust me, I know very well how hard it can be. But that was my only option.

I had to accept that healing is not about becoming a completely different person. Nor is it about cutting away the parts you don’t like. It’s about learning how to hold all the parts of yourself. The strong and the fragile, the certain and the questioning, and still move forward. Just as you cannot separate an aching muscle from your body, you cannot separate an aching soul (an aching brain) either.

That aching part is still a part of you. And it is aching for a reason. That reason needs to be uncovered and understood. The pain needs to be treated. And that aching part needs to be embraced.

You don’t separate yourself from yourself. And you don’t wait to be fully healed to live your life. You build your life alongside your healing and your aching parts.

So if you’ve ever felt like you’re “back at square one,” you’re not.

You’re still on your way.

Just on a path that doesn’t follow a straight line.