The Cruel Loop: When Progress Feels Like a Trap
A reflection from the in-between
There’s a moment in recovery that no one really prepares you for.
It doesn’t happen at the beginning — not when everything is clearly falling apart.
It comes later. After the collapse. After the diagnosis.
After the routines and the gentle walks and the supplements and the "just take it slow."
It happens when you finally think:
Maybe I’m getting better.
And then, quietly, slowly… you’re not.
The Backslide
I remember one day in particular.
The sun was out, the breeze was soft, and for once — I felt okay.
So I did something I used to love:
I went for a walk in nature. Not far. Not fast. Just… present.
For those 45 minutes, I felt like someone returning to life.
I breathed deeply. I noticed trees again. I even thought:
This is the turning point.
But by late afternoon, my brain was shutting down.
The pressure in my head returned.
Thoughts blurred.
My body slumped into a strange, weightless fatigue that no rest could fix.
I wasn’t just tired.
I was erased.
Triggers I Didn't Expect
Even the smallest things could set me back.
Visiting family — just an hour of conversation — left my nervous system trembling for days.
Not because anything bad happened.
Just the energy. The unpredictability. The subtle pressure to appear okay.
And work?
Even thinking about work could freeze me.
I would sit staring holes into the air, and… nothing.
Just blankness.
Then panic.
Then shame.
The Psychological Trap
That’s the cruelty of it.
Because you think you’re healing.
You think, I’ve turned a corner.
And then your body says, “Not yet.”
And the mind starts to spiral:
Was I faking the progress to myself?
Did I push too hard?
Am I back at square one?
Will this ever end?
The hardest part wasn’t the setback.
It was the story I told myself about the setback.
And beneath that story was something even harder to face:
No coach, no pill, no plan can help if you’re cut off from the very part of you that hurts.
You can’t heal what you can’t feel.
A Different View (that came much later)
Looking back now, I realize something I couldn’t have known then:
These cycles — the up, the down, the climb, the crash — weren’t failures.
They were information.
Feedback.
Tiny recalibrations.
My nervous system was trying to say:
You’re not broken. You’re just not ready for that yet.
Try again. But slower this time.
Gentler.
With less agenda. With more presence.
This post isn’t about resolution.
It’s not about what finally worked.
That part came later.
This is just a snapshot —
of that frustrating, confusing middle-space
where healing doesn’t feel like healing at all.
📘 Disclaimer
This post reflects personal experience and emotional process. It is not intended as advice or clinical guidance, but as a personal account from someone still learning how to listen.