January 2026

For a long time, I worried that continuing to care for my body meant I was still afraid. That staying aware meant I hadn’t truly healed. What I eventually learned was that maintenance wasn’t driven by fear at all. It was driven by trust — the kind that only comes from listening to your body closely and honoring what it needs.

For a long time, I was afraid that if I stopped detoxing, everything would come back. I worried that easing up meant being careless — or worse, naive. What I eventually learned was that healing didn’t require staying in detox forever. It required learning when my body actually needed support — and when it didn’t.

I thought recovery would end with relief — that once the worst symptoms passed, detox would be over. What surprised me most was that healing didn’t stop when the crisis ended. It changed shape. It became quieter, more intuitive, and far less about fixing.

I kept waiting for recovery to move forward and stay there. Every time symptoms returned, I thought I’d lost ground. What I didn’t understand yet was that healing wasn’t reversing — it was cycling. The waves weren’t setbacks. They were how my body learned to let go safely.

I used to think fluctuation meant failure. Every time symptoms resurfaced, I assumed detox had stopped working. It took time — and pattern recognition — to understand that fluctuation wasn’t the opposite of progress. It was often a sign that my body was integrating change.

For a long time, I thought progress would feel obvious. I believed I’d wake up one day and just know I was healing. Instead, progress showed up quietly — in ways I didn’t recognize at first, because I was still very much not “better.”

I wish I could tell you there was a clean timeline — a start date, a finish line, a moment where everything clicked. What actually happened was slower, messier, and far more human. Healing didn’t move forward in a straight line. It moved in loops, pauses, and quiet shifts I didn’t recognize at first.

For a long time, I kept adjusting detox because it felt safer than questioning my environment. It wasn’t until I noticed a very specific pattern — improvement that never held — that I realized my body wasn’t confused. It was responding accurately to something I hadn’t fully acknowledged yet.

I asked this question quietly for a long time because I was afraid of the answer. I wanted detox to work badly enough that I hoped my body would somehow heal in place. What I eventually learned was less rigid — and more honest — than a simple yes or no.

I thought I was doing something wrong because I kept sliding backward. Every time I felt like I was finally gaining ground, symptoms would return. What I eventually understood was that I wasn’t relapsing — my body was responding to an environment it never felt safe leaving behind.