After becoming deeply immersed in self-help, I eventually realized I needed to heal from the very act of ‘healing.’ At first, my obsession with self-development felt productive. I read countless books, listened to manifestation podcasts, and explored a variety of healing modalities, from breathwork to tarot readings. I even found myself inside a giant wooden healing egg, exposed to sound and light therapy. My search for self-improvement seemed endless, driven by the belief that if I just kept going, I would eventually reach some perfected version of myself.
The initial motivation was simple: I wanted to stop being my own worst enemy. I had unhealthy relationship patterns and a lingering suspicion that I was inherently unlovable. Somewhere in me, I knew there was a version of myself with clarity and confidence I just needed to access it. But as my pursuit of self-betterment continued, my original goals like learning to feel my emotions rather than analyze them and avoiding self-destructive relationships faded into the background. They were replaced by the broader, more elusive idea of “being healed.”
Eventually, I reached a breaking point. One day, instead of meditating or journaling, I found myself mindlessly scrolling through wellness content, completely drained. My body felt heavy, my mind overwhelmed. I had consumed so much information about healing that I was more disconnected from myself than ever before. This endless focus on self-improvement was reinforcing a narrative that I was broken and needed fixing. Each time I dreamed of expensive wellness products or new self-help techniques, I unknowingly told myself that I wasn’t enough as I was.
The reality is that healing isn’t a linear process with a clear destination. It doesn’t work like fitness goals, where effort leads to visible change. It’s an ongoing, often invisible, journey. The wellness industry, however, thrives on selling the illusion that healing is a tangible outcome one that can be achieved through products, courses, and expensive retreats. The growing global wellness economy reflects just how profitable this pursuit has become.
At some point, I had to step back and ask: If healing is a lifelong job, how do we know when to stop? A breathwork practitioner who had experienced similar struggles once explained that many people get stuck in an endless cycle of self-inquiry without ever applying what they’ve learned to their daily lives. True healing, he suggested, isn’t just about uncovering patterns it’s about integrating those insights into real-world relationships and experiences.
Other perspectives helped shift my mindset. A healer once described healing as a spiral rather than a straight path problems may resurface, but each time, we approach them with new understanding. The idea resonated deeply, as it made me realize that progress doesn’t mean erasing struggles entirely, but rather, learning to navigate them differently over time.
Stepping away from the constant pursuit of healing has been a relief. I unfollowed wellness influencers, stopped buying self-help books, and focused on simply living having a glass of wine with friends, listening to music, and trusting my own instincts rather than chasing external guidance. Though the impulse to ‘work on myself’ still arises, I remind myself that I’ve exhausted that approach. Right now, this is as good as I get, and that’s enough.
