Detox and Recovery

The moment I let myself consider the house, guilt rushed in. I thought it meant I had done something wrong — until I understood guilt was a nervous-system response, not a verdict.

They weren’t bedridden. They weren’t collapsing. They weren’t clearly “unwell.” And because of that, I kept telling myself there was no real reason to intervene — until I understood how quietly bodies can struggle.

I told myself we just needed more time. Time to grow. Time to adjust. Time to mature. Waiting felt patient and reasonable — until I realized time wasn’t changing the pattern at all.

Every appointment ended the same way: nothing alarming, nothing obvious, nothing urgent. I left reassured — and still unsettled. It took me a long time to understand why both could be true at once.

When symptoms quieted and life looked normal again, I expected a sense of completion. Instead, I felt unfinished — like recovery was still open-ended. It took time to understand that healing doesn’t always come with a clear ending.

When my days became steadier and my symptoms quieter, anxiety showed up in an unexpected way. I wasn’t worried about what was happening — I was uneasy because things were finally okay.

Once the crisis passed, my days became quieter. Predictable. Uneventful. Instead of relief, I felt unsettled. I didn’t expect boredom to be the part of recovery that made me uneasy.

As stability became familiar, I noticed how hard it was to relax into it. I stayed alert even when nothing was wrong. It took time to understand that lowering my guard felt dangerous because vigilance had once kept me safe.

Even when healing felt real, I guarded it carefully. I avoided risks, changes, and even good opportunities. It took time to realize that protecting progress was my nervous system’s way of learning trust — not a sign that recovery was fragile.