I’d like to share something that is incredibly difficult to believe, especially when you are in the thick of your own therapy.
I was talking to someone dear to me this week, and she said something that brought instant realisation. She remarked that she used to be a certain kind of person, burdened by specific fears, trapped in particular patterns, but that she wasn’t that person anymore. I believed her. Although I never met that previous version of herself, I know the woman standing in front of me now. Her statement sent me reflecting on my own previous versions, and those of my clients.
In my therapy practice, I frequently act as a kind of archivist. I have to remind people of where they have come from, of the incremental progress they have made, because they have genuinely forgotten what it used to be like. The old scripts (the catastrophic thoughts, the defensive behaviours, the familiar despair) are no longer on their personal radar. It’s as if they never existed. This phenomenon, which psychology might call ‘state-dependent memory’, means that when we are well, we struggle to access the feeling of being unwell. And when we are unwell, we cannot fathom the reality of being well.
Because of this, I hold great hope for all of us engaged in this work. Healing is not just a theoretical possibility; it is a daily reality. We can evolve. We can heal to the point where we no longer recognise that past self. We can access a version of ourselves that is more aligned with our true needs. And when we shift internally, our external circumstances often shift to match. We enter a new reality that feels kinder, more compassionate, and more congruent with our deepest aspirations.
Healing is possible, and it brings profound change.
However, I must hold the tension here.
When we are in the throes of despair, grappling with coping mechanisms that once served as life rafts but now feel like anchors, it can seem as though there is no way out. The work required can feel insurmountable, a mountain with no peak in sight. Attending therapy requires a ferocious courage and a stubborn determination. We can feel stuck on the same loop for months, even years, and find ourselves whispering, Why am I even bothering?
I know how desperately lonely that terrain is, especially when we fall into the trap of comparison. I remember encountering Kazimierz Dąbrowski’s theory of ‘positive disintegration’ within the neurodivergent community. The concept promised that breakdown could lead to breakthrough. And yet, for a long time, my own journey felt like nothing but disintegration. I was losing things, people, identities, certainties, and I was desperately waiting for the promised ‘positive’ part to kick in. Surely, at some point, it gets better, right?
For me, it didn’t get better in the way I expected. I eventually decided to just plough on. I stopped waiting for the dramatic uplift and simply focused on putting one foot in front of the other. Looking back through a clinical lens, I can see that this was the moment the integration began. That quiet, lonely, persistent plodding was essential. It was the fallow period where the ground was healing beneath the surface. My journey was hard and solitary in ways I wished it hadn’t been, but I share it only to illustrate that your path, while tough, doesn’t have to mirror mine exactly.
So, my intention today is to offer you this: I witness healing in action every single day.
It is rarely a cinematic Big Bang. It is not a sudden, permanent arrival at a ‘best self’. Instead, it is a slow, quiet unbecoming of the parts that no longer fit. Over time, I see clients and friends evolve into versions of themselves that they eventually come to love, or at least, to like a whole lot more. I consciously avoid the term ‘better versions of ourselves’, because it implies that who you are right now is somehow unacceptable. You are not a problem to be fixed. You are the product of your life experiences and the ingenious coping mechanisms you developed to survive them.
When those mechanisms stop working, it feels like the floor has dropped out. It’s hard. But if you can stay on the path, and crucially, if you can find the right support, the ground will eventually feel more solid beneath you. I know that can sound like a pipe dream when you’re in the middle of it.
If you can’t believe in the possibility of change right now, that’s okay. You don’t have to. Just try to find someone who can hold that belief for you until you are strong enough to hold it yourself. If you don’t have a friend who can hold that space, please consider finding a therapist who can and will.
You might not see it today, but you are evolving. The person you are becoming is already on their way.
If these words resonated with you, or if you’re struggling to hold the hope for yourself, feel free to leave a comment or share this post. You are not alone on this road.
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