“True healing is not a straight line. It’s a spiral. You think you understood and you’re back to seeing deeper truths.” ~Barry H. Gillespie
I believed healing was obvious. Like the movie, like a breakthrough montage… laughing through tears, epiphanies of treatment, and early morning jogging that ends with sunrise and life changes. But that’s not how healing looks to me.
I was too late and crying too much, and then my puffy eyes seemed to drag myself out of bed. When everything I whispered, it seemed to brush my teeth, “Why bother?” When I couldn’t love and felt that it wasn’t worth responding, it seemed to answer the text.
The healing is quieter than I thought. It’s not a climax. It’s practice.
Three years ago, I hit what could only be called an emotional gridlock. I wasn’t in danger, but at least it’s not something to get dramatic music. I felt like cement. I was always tired. My fuse was short. I was not asleep, I didn’t eat regularly, and the woman in the mirror didn’t look like someone I’d recognized anymore.
If I had asked me what was wrong, I wouldn’t have had an answer. It was not a single event. It was a slow erosion of myself, and life was slowly missing until I felt like the ghost of someone I used to be.
One night, after taking a shower and crying with something insignificant to my children, I sat on the edge of my bed thinking: I don’t want to live like this anymore.
It’s not “I want to disappear.” It’s not “I want to run away.” However, this version of life felt like a survival mode in a loop and it had to be changed.
So I did something radical:
I took a deep breath. I removed my chin. I drank a glass of water.
And that was the first day.
There was no fanfare. There are no overnight shifts. It’s just the decision to start with what I can reach: my breath, my body, the next kind choice.
The next morning I cooked breakfast. It’s not just for me. Eggs and spinach. It sounds small, but it felt like I was getting something back. I was used to skipping meals and standing up like my needs.
That day, instead of scrolling, I walked around the block after lunch. It wasn’t even training. I didn’t track it. But the sun hit my shoulder and for the first time in a long time I felt it here.
The walk was soothing.
Every time I chose presence over performance, it was at every moment.
I started to keep my mental list of all the little things I did in a day that felt like medicine. Bath instead of another task. The meaningless journal entries helped me feel like I was exploding. Drink some water before coffee. “What do you need?” and they actually ask for the answer.
Sometimes the answer was a nap. Sometimes it was a good cry that didn’t rush to wipe my face. Sometimes I would text my friends and say, “I’m not okay now.”
And sometimes the answer was just silence.
No need to improve, implement or explain yourself…
The following year, healing became a custom that manifests in different ways.
It’s not dramatic.
Consistently.
Rather than disabling it, I started listening to my body. I rested when I needed to prove I could push through. I said no even when my people screamed at me and yelled at me to make it easier for others just to say yes.
And what about consistency? It’s boring. There is no applause. But it works.
Healing lies in the repetition of small kindness to oneself. Boring and brave acts of resistance against self-ignoring.
It was not linear either. I’ve returned to the old pattern. There were days when I was paralyzed on the phone, skipped meals, or snapped to everyone in the house. But I stopped making those days. That means I’m back in Square One.
You can collapse and still be healed.
You feel stuck and still progress.
One of the most free things I’ve ever learned was that healing isn’t the destination you arrive at. It is the relationship you build with yourself. It is rooted in trust.
And trust is gained in small quiet moments.
What I didn’t know at the time, but I now understand deeply is that our nervous system is not waiting for one major overhaul. They await safety, predictability and care. You reconstruct your senses in the same way you build trust with others. Consistent behavior at once.
Rather than lifting up in frustration, I brush my hair. It’s putting your phone down and drinking tea. Tears don’t swallow them, they cry when they come.
These things don’t look innovative. But they are. Every small act of care goes to your body and mind: “You are important. I am here. I have you now.”
I remember it vividly one day.
It was raining. My toddler had just threw oatmeal across the room. I was already touched, over-stimulated, and dangerously close to tears. My instinct was to throw away my day, turn on the cartoons, pour coffee into my anxiety, and call it survival.
But instead, I was sitting on the floor. I scooped the screaming child into my knees, pressing my forehead against him, whispering, “It’s okay, we’re safe.”
I took a breath. And then another. And something softened inside me.
That moment didn’t correct my life. But it reminded me of my strength. That was also soothing.
If it’s a season when everything feels good, numbness, exhaustion, or the spark you’ve had is buried under obligation, I want you to know this:
No 10-step planning is required. You need one small thing you can do today.
breath. meal. stroll. Text to someone safe. The screams you held.
It’s soothing. Not dramatic rebirth, but a yarn with sacred thread, a quiet remeasurement of yourself.
Some things that helped me
Lower the bar. Healing is not about being your best self every day. One day, it’s not to abandon yourself. Let’s start from there. Make boredom romantic. Light the candle. Make tea. Wear comfortable socks. Small rituals are important. They remind you that even if your life is messy, it’s worth living. Give yourself trust. Every time I choose to have a presence over autopilot, I rewire something. That’s not a small thing. Be friends with your body. It’s not broken. It corresponds to years of survival. Treat them like loyal companions, not malfunctioning machines. Talk to yourself like you love. When you ruin it. When overreacting. When you don’t meet your own expectations. Especially at that time. Keep showing up. Even if it’s not appealing. Especially if it’s not.
You don’t always feel change. But one day you will wake up and notice: you are soft. Kinder. Low reactivity. More you.
That’s what makes you soothe.
Quietly. Be faithful. Cells by cells.
About Christie Robbins
Cristie Robbins is a published author, certified mental wellness coach and founder of Wellness Blueprint. She helps women to reduce stress and rejuvenate through a root cause approach. Find out more or connect to Cristie at thewellnessblueprint.org. Follow her on Facebook and Instagram.
