I thought remediation would mark the end of the process. Once the work was done, I expected clarity and closure. What I didn’t understand yet was that remediation can change an environment without fully resolving how a body responds inside it.

I kept trying to understand my results by lining them up against other people’s numbers. What finally helped was realizing that context — not comparison — was what made the information usable.

Fixing the obvious issue felt like progress. The leak was repaired, the damage addressed, and everything looked stable again. But my body kept reacting, forcing me to realize that stopping one problem doesn’t always change the conditions underneath it.

At first, the numbers felt solid and authoritative. Over time, they started to feel less certain — not because they changed, but because my understanding of them did.

I expected remediation to help everything at once. When the house improved but my body didn’t follow, it left me confused and questioning my decisions. This was the point where I had to separate environmental progress from nervous-system timing.

I expected testing to narrow things down. Instead, it sometimes opened new questions I wasn’t ready to hold yet. Understanding why that happens helped me stop assuming something was wrong.

I expected remediation to make things better, not harder. When my symptoms flared instead, fear set in fast. What I eventually understood was that worsening didn’t always mean something went wrong — sometimes it meant my body was still adjusting to change.

I expected normal results to bring relief. Instead, they left me confused — because my body still didn’t feel okay. It took time to understand why those two things could exist at the same time.

Everything looked resolved on the surface. Repairs were done. The space appeared stable. And yet my body kept responding as if nothing had changed. This was the moment I had to understand the difference between visual safety and felt safety.

I assumed more testing would automatically bring more clarity. What I learned instead was that timing, context, and nervous system state mattered just as much as the information itself.