What Healing Actually Looks Like

Social media curates an idea of what it means to be healing, recovering, and mentally healthy. You’ve probably seen the posts: 5am workouts. Journaling and breath work. Sunday fridge restocks with color-coded labels. A beautiful beach read, on an actual beach. The perfect yoga pose, frozen in golden-hour light. A spotless home with neutral decor and soft lighting. A thriving garden, somehow free of weeds, pests, or effort. You, fully composed, calm, and at ease.

And sometimes? These can be part of healing, but more often than not, healing isn’t photogenic.

Healing isn’t always pretty. It isn’t big and bold. It isn’t obvious. And it definitely doesn’t always match the online aesthetic. 

Sometimes healing actually looks like…

Still having the panic attack, but now you meet it with curiosity instead of fear. You feel the tightening in your chest, the racing heart, the sharp ache, and you don’t push it away. You breathe with it. You name it. You listen. And slowly, the wave passes.

Sometimes it looks like snapping at your partner, only this time, you turn back. You apologize. You name your part. You make space for both of your experiences.

Sometimes it looks like forgetting to eat until 2pm, but instead of spiraling into shame, you choose kindness. You feed yourself with care instead of punishment. 

Here’s what healing looked like for me this week:

I was starting to clean the house, something that usually grounds me, but this time, it stirred me up. Anxiety rose quickly: my heart started racing, my chest tightened, and the sharpness in my body told me panic was nearby. But I didn’t shut down. I kept going, one small task at a time, even as I noticed I had started (and stopped) multiple things. Half-cleaned counters, half-folded laundry, dishes mid-sort. My mind was not on the task at hand, it stayed with my body, tuning into the signals. 

It wasn’t graceful. It wasn’t clean or complete. But I stayed with myself. My body reacted, but my emotions didn’t overtake me. I didn’t try to fix or suppress it. I just knew what it was, and I let it be. 

That’s healing. Not in the polished, curated way we’re often taught to chase, but in the quiet, clumsy, cyclical way it actually happens.

Real healing is not an Instagram reel. It’s a return. A return to yourself. Again and again.

So if you’ve been wondering whether your healing “counts” because it doesn’t look like the version you see online, let me say this clearly:

It counts. You count. This is the work.

What does healing look like in your life right now? No filters. No edits. Just the truth of it. I’d love to hear.