Detox and Recovery

Once the emergency phase ended, I expected clarity. Instead, I felt unanchored — like I was healing, but without a map. The lack of structure felt unsettling in ways I didn’t expect.

The numbers said I was better. The results looked reassuring. But inside my body, safety still felt far away — and that disconnect confused me more than the symptoms ever did.

After mold, stress didn’t feel like pressure anymore — it felt like danger. Even small moments carried a physical weight I didn’t recognize, and it took time to understand why my reactions felt so intense.

Even when the mold was gone, stress still hit my body hard. Ordinary pressure triggered symptoms that felt familiar — and confusing — until I understood what my nervous system was still carrying.

Every time symptoms returned, I panicked. I couldn’t tell if I was experiencing a normal dip — or if everything was unraveling again. Learning the difference between setbacks and real relapses changed how I responded to my body entirely.

Even when my body clearly needed rest, slowing down felt wrong. I carried a quiet guilt — like easing up meant giving up — and it took me a long time to understand where that pressure was really coming from.

I thought healing meant doing more — more detox, more protocols, more effort. What surprised me was how much my body responded when I stopped pushing and let recovery unfold differently.

When things finally began to ease, I didn’t feel relief — I felt guarded. Improvement didn’t feel like safety yet, and I didn’t understand why trusting my body felt harder than surviving the symptoms.

Even after the exposure ended, my body didn’t stand down. I kept wondering why I still felt on edge when the danger was over — and why calm felt so hard to access.

I slowed down. I rested. I did everything people told me would help my body recover. And still, my symptoms lingered — which made me question whether rest was actually doing anything at all.