The Quiet Work of Becoming Whole: My Journey to Self-Healing
How I Began My Journey to Self-Healing
As I stated in my first blog, therapy is when all reality set it. Therapy had laid the groundwork for me. After finishing the intensive trauma therapy, I worked and searched for the right fit for me. It wasn’t easy. But when I did, it was an instant connection. Having been to therapy for several years at this point, I learned coping skills and opened my eyes to things I hadn’t been aware of. Those years of hard work gave me tools and language to understand what I was experiencing - and the courage to finally act.
The first thing I had to do was stop pretending I was fine. I learned that naming my pain didn’t make me weak; if made me honest (not that I ever wasn’t but honest with myself too). I journaled the messy thoughts I’d been ashamed of, talked them about to my therapist, and sat with feelings I’d been avoiding. Simply saying "This is hard for me,” shifted my experience from isolation to something I could hold and examine. And writing these experiences and feelings out made it more clear for me to understand the actual emotions that were underlying my anger and fears.
Healing has been a quiet, stubborn unraveling and reweaving of my life. It’s been a process of showing up for myself in small ways, even during the periods I take breaks from therapy. Choosing patience over perfection, and honoring progress even when the steps felt tiny. This is the story of how I began top find buy way back to myself.
I reached the point of beginning to work on myself the moment I knew something in my life had to change. I decided to start by leaving the toxic relationship that was the main source of distress in my life at the time.
There wasn't a single dramatic moment - more of a series of subtle signs; exhaustion that sleep didn’t fix, a growing numbness in relationship, and a sense that I was living life on autopilot and survival. Those signs finally added up to the realization: if I didn't do the work, nothing would. The clear definition of insanity, right? Admitting that felt vulnerable and frightening, but it was also the doorway to everything that followed.
Being in an incredibly toxic relationship forced me to make the hardest decision I’ve ever made (especially having incredible abandonment issues): to start over. I needed space to process my life, my emotions, and my choices - to do what was best for my sanity, my peace, my future, and of course, my kids. I wanted to do better for them than what I had as a child. I wanted to protect them from the trauma that it is to have a dysfunctional family in all sorts of ways. It was terrifying and liberating all at once.
For the first time in my life I set boundaries, and many people’s weren’t happy. But I didn’t care. I wanted and needed to be happy. I couldn’t remember a time I had done anything just for me. So I stepped away and walked into the world on my own terms.
At first, I wanted nobody to know me. I was used to sharing everything - being completely public and transparent - and now I chose silence and distance. I was hurt. I met people, but I kept them at arm’s length. I wasn't interested in what anyone could offer me because I didn’t yet know what I wanted from the world. Any red flags I noticed, I cut out quickly. I didn’t want to repeat old mistakes.
Those who spent time with or around me often didn’t know I was married or had kids, where I lived, or anything personal. People started calling me “my name is Debbie, I’m not interested” or a “big locked vault full of secrets.” I would smile and keep it that way. It felt peaceful. I leaned on people who held space for me without trying to fix me. I also discovered teachers in books, podcasts, and online communities who offered tools and perspectives that resonated. Building that web of support was one of the most courages things I did.
Claiming my identity was part of the healing process. It was about discovering who I was outside of old roles and everyone else’s expectations. I experimented with new hobbies, reconnected with dreams I’d shelved, and gave myself permission to change my mind. Slowly, I rebuilt a sense of identity that felt chosen, not borrowed or forced upon me.
During that time I did things I hadn’t done since I was a teenager: I played volleyball, I went out, I mediated, I worked out, I made new friends, I traveled, and I experienced new things. I was discovering what lit me up and what didn’t. People ask “tell me about yourself,” and for the first time, I could actually answer.
I realized I’d never truly known myself. I’d been defined by roles and other people’s expectations for my whole life that my own likes, dislikes, needs, and boundaries didn't exist. Slowly, I started to learn them. I learned what made me happy, what made me sad, and what made me angry. Most importantly, what I wanted out of life and a relationship. What healthy living meant. For myself and my kids. I practiced saying no. I practiced putting myself first without guilt.
My instinct to cut away red flags didn’t come from fear alone - it was a form of self-preservation. I was finally protecting my emotional space and that of my children. I learned that privacy can feel like sanctuary while you heal, and that you don’t owe anyone at all access to your life while you’re rebuilding.
The changes weren’t dramatic overnight. They were a string of small, consistent acts: showing up for volleyball, keeping a meditation habit, taking time to breathe, making a friend who truly listened, building and following a daily routine, and choosing rest. Those tiny choices added up to a life that felt more like mine. A life I never wanted to give up.
Practices that actually helped me:
Therapy and counseling: A safe place to unpack the past and reframe my story.
Journaling: A daily habit that turned chaos into clarity - even five minutes makes a difference.
Mindful movement: Walking, yoga, and gentle stretching helped my body release tension my mind couldn’t.
Breath work and meditations: Short breathing exercises were surprisingly effective when anxiety flared.
Boundaries: Learning to say no and protecting my time felt like reclaiming pieces of myself.
Small rituals: Morning tea, making breakfast for my kids, workouts, reading, praying, walks in nature, plans with friends.
Creative expression: Painting, writing, and music helped me process feelings words couldn’t reach.
Progress wasn't a straight line. There were days I felt two steps forward and three steps back. Instead of seeing setbacks as failure, I started treating them as feedback - information to refine my approach and to remind me that I’m still human. Compassion toward myself in those moments mattered more than anything else.
I learned to celebrate the small things: a calm moment in the middle of a stressful day, choosing rest over productivity, or speaking up when I would’ve stayed silent before. These micro-victories added up and gave me proof that change was possible.
What I wish I could have told my past self is to allow myself to be gentler, to accept help sooner, and to trust that progress doesn’t need to be loud to be real. I would say: Healing is not about erasing the past - it’s about learning to live with it while choosing new responses. I would tell my child self, it’s okay to put herself first. That setting boundaries isn’t selfish - it’s survival. That quiet, private healing is valid, and that it’s okay not to explain every step. I'd tell her she’d learn to answer “tell me about yourself” with confidence because she would finally know and understand who she was and how her experiences built who she is today.
Where I am now: I won’t say I’m “done”. Healing is ongoing. I’m still continuing to learn. I still make mistakes. But I am present in ways I never was before. I make decisions that protect my peace and my family. I stand behind my boundaries. And most importantly, I know myself better than I ever have. I can say I am more present, more curious, and kinder to myself. I make choices that align with who I want to be, and when old patterns appear, I notice them without immediate judgement. That awareness itself is a form of freedom.
A message to anyone reading this: Thank you for following and being alongside me during my journey. If you’re standing at the edge of a similar choice, know that starting over is allowed. This is a gentle invitation for whoever needs it. If you’re reading this and feel stuck, know that the work of healing is possible for you too. It beings with a single honest admission and continues with many small acts of care. You don’t have to rush. Keep showing up. Keep trying. And when it feels heavy, ask for help - the brave thing is not going at it alone. Protect your energy. Give yourself space to figure out what you want. Trust that the small acts - the hobbies, the quiet, the boundaries - will lead you back to yourself.
If any of this resonates, here are some additional and simple, actionable steps you can try:
write for five minutes: put down whatever comes to mind without editing
breathe for two minutes: inhale for four counts, exhale for six
set one small boundary: say no to one thing that drains you this week and practice keeping it
move your body for twenty minutes: even a short walk helps reset your nervous system
reach out: send one honest message to a friend or book one therapy session
carve out a small daily practice (mediation, journaling, or a short walk)
try one activity you enjoyed when you were younger
cut a small red flag and notice how your energy tilts
reach out to one person who listens without judgement
These are all practical steps you can try today.
The journey to self healing has been my most challenging and rewarding path. It hasn’t made my life perfect, but it has made me truer to myself. If anything in my story resonates, I hope it gives you permission to begin - or to continue- your own.
xoxo,
-shiftmomunfiltered
Find me on social media!