A Day in My Life (Before Healing)

Before I started my healing journey, this is what my days looked like.

I woke up at 6 a.m. with instant panic and nausea that hit like a punch to the stomach. Before I even got out of bed, obsessive thoughts swarmed in: three or four conversations running in my head at once, with a random song or vocal loop playing in the background like static I couldn’t shut off.

I was exhausted, usually running on 4–5 hours of broken sleep, but resting wasn’t an option. As a kid, sleeping late wasn’t allowed. As an adult, early mornings were drilled into me through work. If I let myself sleep in, the guilt would hit like a tidal wave. Lazy, worthless, weak. And with that guilt came more panic.

So I dragged myself up, took care of the animals, and tried to hold myself together before logging into work. Most mornings, I blasted a motivational playlist just to keep from crying. I was already running on fumes, but I had to be “on.” Smiling. Helpful. Holding everyone else together. I convinced myself that being a good leader meant always putting myself last.

On the outside, I looked capable. Inside, I was drowning.

I worked 10–12-hour days, sometimes clocking over 80 hours a week, but I was only paid for 40. I was terrified to set boundaries, terrified to say no. So I did the work of others until I burned out completely. By the time I logged off, I was numb. I’d shut myself in my room, avoid talking, and cry myself to sleep. And the next day, I did it all again.

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The Spirals

Arguments, even tiny ones, spun me out. If my husband hurt my feelings, I’d rehearse the fight in my head over and over. Same with work conversations, family disagreements, anything that even hinted at confrontation. I hated conflict, but my brain forced me to replay it, like if I prepared enough, maybe I wouldn’t break.

Everyday tasks felt impossible. Going to the store? I’d agonize over it all day until I couldn’t put it off any longer. Phone calls? Forget it. Even though I worked in customer service and led a team, personal calls made me panic. Calling a doctor or utility company meant rehearsing the conversation in my head ten times or handing the phone to my husband. I didn’t make my first dentist appointment by myself until I was 30 years old.

Speaking up terrified me. If my food order was wrong, I’d rather go hungry than say anything. When I had to fire my first employee as a supervisor, I cried beforehand and cried instantly as soon as the call ended. Supervisor escalations also left my stomach in knots because they felt confrontational.

I couldn’t say no to anyone, and if I managed to, I felt like I owed them a detailed explanation. People saw this, and they used it. I said yes to everything, even when it made me want to break down and cry.

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The Breaking Point

My mind was in chaos. Spirals, static, and suicidal ideation that stalked me daily, sometimes terrifyingly close.

I was painfully self-aware. I knew positive thinking could help; I knew my brain could shift, but the louder voice told me to give up. To quit. To stop fighting.

I tried coping mechanisms I’d learned as a child, but nothing stuck. Deep down, I didn’t believe they would work, and because of that, I never gave them a real chance.

Eventually, I hit a wall.

I told myself: I can either keep living like this until I eventually give in… or I can fight for something better.

That was the moment everything changed.

I started experimenting with somatic practices, mindfulness, and journaling in a new way. Instead of just writing the same thoughts, I began responding to them and forcing positive thoughts to meet every negative one. Showing myself that I was in control, not my ego, not the chaos.

And something shifted.

The spirals slowed. The noise quieted.

Not gone, there were still nerves, still intrusive thoughts, but the endless static in my head stopped. The silence was so foreign it scared me at first. But then I realized: this is what peace is. This is what freedom feels like.

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Now

Today, I wake up with excitement instead of dread. I no longer live for everyone else. I quit the job that drained me and threw myself into learning everything I could about the brain, healing, and happiness.

I still get nervous about the things that used to paralyze me: phone calls, errands, and being seen online, but the difference is everything. The fear doesn’t control me anymore. I move through it, and I use it as proof that I’m still moving forward.

I still deal with functional freeze and burnout from years of being an overworked people-pleaser, but now I see it as part of healing. Every day, it gets lighter.

And the biggest shift?

I’m not a prisoner of my own mind anymore.

For the first time in my life, I feel free.