Why I Didn’t Heal in a Straight Line — and Why That Didn’t Mean Something Was Wrong
Progress didn’t disappear — it wavered.
Once things improved, I expected momentum.
Better days stacking neatly. Fewer symptoms. Less effort.
So when a harder day showed up again, my stomach dropped.
I thought I was going backward.
Fluctuation didn’t mean failure — it meant my system was still adjusting.
Why I Assumed Healing Would Be Linear
Linear progress feels reassuring.
It offers a sense of control — a clear direction with no surprises.
I wanted proof that we were past the hardest part.
Forward felt safe. Anything else felt threatening.
I confused predictability with healing.
When Good Days Followed by Hard Ones Felt Alarming
A calmer stretch would settle in.
Then a rough night. A heavier morning. A familiar tension.
My mind jumped straight to panic.
This reaction connected closely to what I felt in why I didn’t trust early improvement.
Variability felt like a warning instead of a phase.
I interpreted fluctuation as loss instead of transition.
Why My Nervous System Didn’t Reset All at Once
My body had learned vigilance.
It didn’t forget that overnight.
Even in safer conditions, it checked back in — testing, recalibrating.
Safety needs repetition, not declarations.
Healing required my nervous system to relearn rhythm, not just relief.
How Expecting “Normal” Made Setbacks Feel Bigger
I was still measuring against the idea of being fully back.
So anything short of smooth felt like a problem.
This tied directly into the pressure I described in why I felt pressure to be back to normal.
Expectations amplified what my body was still releasing.
The timeline hurt more than the symptoms themselves.
What Changed When I Stopped Treating Fluctuation as a Threat
I stopped labeling harder days as setbacks.
I let them exist without meaning-making.
Over time, the swings softened.
The system steadied once it wasn’t being interrogated.
Acceptance allowed regulation to complete itself.