If I’m being honest, “healing” isn’t what I thought it would be. Don’t get me wrong — even though it’s different than what I’d planned in my head, it’s still good. It might be better, even.Â
The phrase that I find most fitting to my own experiences of growth and healing is that “your new life will cost you your old one.” A while ago, I didn’t fully understand it. Logically, it makes obvious sense; you can’t possibly live a new life if you’re also still living your old one. The two are mutually exclusive. You must give up certain crutches, habits, and patterns if you want things to change. But the aspect of this — healing — that I had not anticipated was that reaching a better place than you were previously, finding yourself in some state of “healed-ness,” can feel a bit strange and even uncomfortable.
On paper, most people understand “healing” or “getting better” or “recovery” (whatever your preferred term is) to be the end-all-be-all. We expect to fully recover from something, get better mentally or physically, and thus move forward with complete, unfaltering happiness and certainty. That’s at least what I thought to be true. But my own concrete experiences suggest otherwise, and so do those of my close friends, family, and peers. Healing may mean something different for everybody. For me personally, “healing” doesn’t mean that you’ll feel better or happy all the time; rather, it means you have reached a point where you know how to (and continually learn to) healthily deal with the difficulties of life, and where you want better for yourself than to remain apathetic in your existence.Â
My own personal, functional definition of “getting better” is only corroborated by the idea that my new life will cost me my old one, for more than just the obvious reasons. You wouldn’t think that things like long-term mental health challenges and general unhappiness will be missed by any metric, and for all intents and purposes, they aren’t. They are, after all, what you are working so hard to get away from. But in my experience, it’s difficult to let go of these things when they’ve been a part of your life for so long. I’ve heard from friends that their experiences of recovery required them to redefine themselves, after the things causing them pain were present long enough to feel like a piece (or all) of their identity. For me, I’ve had to learn how to trust myself again — trust that I can take care of myself, trust that I’m strong enough to endure, and trust that I will not betray or undermine my own efforts to help myself; that I am no longer my own worst enemy. I’ve had to acknowledge my own patterns — tendencies toward extremes and anxiety-driven need for control — and address them through consistent, intentional correction. More than anything, I’ve realized the importance of acceptance; acceptance that life is cyclical, unknown and unpredictable, and full of pain that is impossible to escape. But so with it also comes the acceptance that life is full of moments worth living for, insurmountable joy, and beauty for whoever seeks to find it.Â
Everyone knows that change is difficult. Even the things that make us miserable — our counterproductive habits, destructive coping mechanisms, and negative thinking patterns — can be so familiar and integrated into our lives that abandoning them and beginning to heal our wounds may feel uncomfortable, insincere, undeserved, or ill-fitting. In these moments, it helps to remind yourself that discomfort is natural. Growth requires courage — to actually feel and get acquainted with the pain we spend all of our energy avoiding. We must let go of our sinking ships if we have any hopes of making it to more solid ground, and though frightening, we simply have no choice.Â
Your new life will cost you your old one, but don’t let that discourage you too much. It may not seem worth it; our future’s unknowable, mysterious nature can make “healing” seem like improbable speculation. Just try to remember that true learning is in the struggle. Remember that you and your life are worth fighting for. Remember to let yourself have hope; you have no idea just how good things could be, if only you gave yourself the chance to get there.