“One never notices what has been done, one can only see what needs to be done.” ~ Mary Curie
I hardly ever go to my cousin’s wedding.
Not because I do not want to celebrate her. I did. But the thought of walking into a room full of people who have known my version for the past two years feels unbearable.
They know that version well.
People who cry in the bathroom booth during family reunions. Who smiles at dinner while repeating an argument from three days ago? Anyone who drinks too much at Christmas because it is easier than feeling overwhelmed in a room full of people seems very nice.
I was fine then. And I’m not sure if I’m fine now.
So I was almost at home.
But I went. And somewhere between the ceremony and the reception, my aunt pulled me to one side and said something I did not expect.
“You seem different,” she said, “lighter. What you are doing – keep doing it.”
That night I drove home quietly thinking about what she was saying.
Lighter.
I do not feel lighter. I still have a hard day. I still think over things. Sometimes I still find myself falling into old stereotypes, sometimes – the joy of people, the self-doubt, the calmness of anxiety that I have long practiced, it feels like a part of my personality.
But from the outside, something has changed.
And I missed it completely.
I kept thinking about those words for the next few weeks, wondering how others could see the changes that were invisible to me.
Problems with self-healing
Here’s what no one tells you about treatment: You are the worst person to measure your progress.
When you are inside – living from day to day – you do not see any change. You just see the gap between where you are and where you want to go.
You see the panic attack you did last Tuesday. Not the fact that you get them three times a week.
You see the night you scroll SMS. Not recently dozens of times when you have not.
You see when you almost apologize for something that is not your fault. Not every time you stop yourself before the words come out of your mouth.
Progress is hidden from those who created it.
I spent months doing chores – healing, taking notes, sitting with discomfort instead of running away from them – and truly believing that I was not going anywhere that I was broken in some basic way that could not be fixed. That other people have healed, but maybe I am an exception.
At that time, I was relieved of years of stress and fatigue. Learning to slow down has become less and less necessary self-improvement goals. The difficult times of life-changing and traumatic events forced me to reconsider the pressure I was putting on myself every day.
I kept the journal during that time. Inconsistency is not beautiful – just an occasional input when things feel heavy.
About a year ago, I went back to reading.
I had to stop halfway.
Not because it’s boring. Because I hardly know who wrote those words. Disaster. Relentless apology – even in her private journal to herself for feeling. The way she describes herself as she is too basic and not enough at the same time.
I sat with that book in my lap for a long time.
Then I cried. Not out of sadness. From something closer to sadness — to her hardships to herself. And everything else is quieter.
Rescue. Because I am not her anymore.
Treatment does not declare itself.
I think I expect the treatment to feel for a while.
Clear before and after. One morning I woke up feeling really good. The conversation that I finally got right. One day the anxiety subsided.
It does not work like that. Or at least it’s not for me.
It works like this instead:
I noticed one afternoon that a friend canceled our project at the last minute and I was not ruined by it. I was a little annoyed how most people would be and then I went on with my day.
Six months ago, that cancellation would get me into a circle. I assumed I had done something wrong. That they withdraw. That I am too much or not enough or deserves to be canceled on.
But that afternoon I did not go there.
I ordered and removed the program I wanted to watch. It’s not entirely noticeable.
And that is the point.
Another time, a colleague said something inappropriate in a meeting. Something that in the previous version of my life would live without rent in my head for weeks. I would replay it endlessly, trying to figure out what I did to get it, creating a response that I never really said.
This time I was thinking about this while driving home. Decided it was about them more than me. And then let it go.
Like that.
I did not realize that I had done anything else until that night, when I noticed that I had not thought about it.
That’s what the treatment looks like. Not a big revelation. Do something quietly, without noticing that you have changed.
Wrong measuring stick
For a long time, I measured my treatment against what was wrong.
I measured it against perfection.
Against, do not think too much. Never feel anxious. Never fall into the old pattern or have a hard day or say yes when I mean.
Through that measurement, I was constantly failing.
But healing never becomes a struggle. It is about being a different person.
Who heals faster. Whoever catches himself in the middle of a circle and chooses not to finish it. Whoever feels drawn to the old model and acknowledges what it is – fear is not real.
A friend of mine, who had been recovering from alcoholism for many years, told me one thing that stuck with me.
“People always ask me if I am well,” she said. “I tell them that is not the right question. The right question is: Do I live better than I am? And the answer is yes. Every day.”
I thought about it a lot.
Am I recovering from overthinking? No, do I live better than I do? Absolutely.
And somewhere along the way, I stopped wanting those things to be the same thing.
What I want someone to tell me
I wish someone had told me at the beginning that the cure would be invisible to me almost all the time.
That I would work and feel like nothing had changed and then one day a stranger – or an aunt at a wedding – would say something that was holding me back in my path.
That I would go and look for evidence of my own progress and not find it, because the biggest change is not noticeable enough to notice at the moment. They are just … the absence of suffering that has always existed.
I wish someone had told me that the goal is not to get to the point where difficult things stop happening. It is about getting to a place where difficult things happen and you are not as isolated as you used to be.
I wish someone had told me to stop comparing my current chapter to my worst chapter and then declare that I was not healed enough. That’s like judging a book by comparing its middle chapter to the darkest page and deciding that it does not improve.
I wish someone had told me to come back from time to time. To look back at the road, I was already covered, instead of looking at the distance I still had to go.
Rotate around
Last month, I removed the old newspaper again.
I had a hard week – the old anxiety was coming back, a few sleepless nights, the day I caught myself enjoying people the way I thought I was going.
I felt like I was back in a square. So I read some articles from two years ago. And as before, I hardly knew her.
Not because she is weak. She is not. She tries her best with what she has. But the weight she carries — the relentless apology, the fear of space, the way she talks about herself — is heavy.
I no longer weigh the same. Some days it still pops up. Some days I still feel the edge of it. But I do not live under it as I used to. And that’s nothing. That’s everything.
If you are in the middle of it now – work and feel that nothing has changed – I would like to ask you to turn around gently. Not to stay there. Do not live in the past. Just look at how far you have walked.
Because you are not where you started. Although it does not feel like it. Even though no one has spoken yet.
You are different. Quiet in a good way. Stronger in the important way. You just have not seen it yet.
But you will.
About Dakota J. Dawson
Dakota J. Dawson writes about mental sovereignty, healing, personal growth, mental health, and self-destruction. Her work focuses on the emotional frontier, breaking free from self-destruction and learning to protect your peace without apologizing for it. She writes about Stoic detachment and the patterns that keep us stuck – pleasant people, overthinking, toxic mistakes, and the quiet way we stand our way – and offers gentle and practical strategies to choose for yourself. Get her e-book, Stop letting things hurt you – Unlock at promotional prices here.
