Graced with Grit

insight isn’t healing

After I wrote about how diagnoses can become shields, I sat with something more uncomfortable; the fact that I’ve done exactly that.

Not necessarily on purpose. Sometimes in defense, sometimes in fear, sometimes I truly didn’t know what else to do.
I’d name the pattern, the trauma, and the response. I’d say, “This is why I am the way I am.”
And for a while, the relief of having a name felt like enough.

But eventually, the relief of naming my wounds began to ware off, and I was left wondering:
What if I’ve gotten too comfortable with knowing the ‘why’, and quietly stopped reaching for growth and healing?

It’s easy to get stuck in that space. The insight feels like progress. The diagnosis gives relief, language, and context. The puzzle pieces click into place and you feel seen, maybe for the first time.

But that moment, as powerful as it is, isn’t the finish line.
It’s the doorway.

I know this because I too stayed in that space. The space between knowing and changing, for a long time. I knew why I shut down in conflict. I knew why I over-explained, over-accommodated, over-apologized. I knew which scars were mine and which weren’t. I knew I had patterns that protected me once but hurt others now.

And still, I repeated it.

Because the truth is, insight feels like progress. And sometimes, we confuse the two.

We think, I’ve named the wound, doesn’t that mean it’s healed?

But naming the wound is only the first act. What comes after is the quiet, rigorous work of tending to it. Of resisting the urge to react the same old way, even when it would be easier. Of letting go of the parts of yourself that once kept you safe, but now keep you stuck in cycles of self-sabotage.

There’s grief in that. There’s discomfort. And sometimes, there’s fear. Fear of who we’ll be without our familiar defenses.

But there’s also freedom.

Because knowing yourself is power. And changing, even just a little at a time, is how you use that power with intention. With care. With courage.

I still feel stuck at times. I think that we all do, in our own ways. I still crack and react with old defenses. But now, rather than saying:

“sorry, I have such bad abandonment issues” , I say:

“I’m really sorry. I know the way I reacted was hurtful, and that is not fair to you.’”

The way you were hurt is not your fault. But the way you hurt others by neglecting to heal yourself will always be your fault.

I don’t expect your healing to be tidy. But I’d rather be grazed by your effort than gutted by your denial.

Take care of yourself, and if you can, someone else too! Grace