Healing and Output: The Cycle I Didn’t Plan (But Had to Learn)
Healing and Output: The Cycle I Didn’t Plan (But Had to Learn)
For a long time, I treated healing and output as opposites.
Healing felt like something I did inside.
Output felt like something I did in the world.
And because they feel so different, it’s easy to assume they’re in competition:
- If I’m healing, I’m not producing.
- If I’m producing, I’m not healing.
But over the last year, I’ve had an experience that forced a different conclusion.
Healing and output are not enemies.
They are phases in the same cycle.
And if I don’t understand that cycle, I end up doing one of two things:
- Shaming myself for not producing while I’m healing
- Using production as a substitute for healing when I’m not ready to feel
Neither is sustainable.
This post is my attempt to define the cycle more honestly — as I’ve lived it.
The Pattern I Observed (Not the One I Planned)
Toward the end of last year I entered a period of intensive healing work.
It lasted around three months.
It was deep, costly, and real.
Then it stopped fairly abruptly — not because the work was “done”, but because the season changed.
And after that, something surprising happened:
I produced an enormous amount of output in a short period of time:
- two books
- around 90 blog posts
- an almost relentless surge of structuring, writing, and system-building
I didn’t sit down and decide:
“Now I will enter my high-output phase.”
It happened organically.
It felt like tunnel vision.
Flow.
Almost like a channel opened.
And the experience itself mattered.
Because it revealed something:
My output isn’t separate from my healing journey.
It’s part of how healing becomes real in the world.
But it also revealed something else:
Output doesn’t automatically heal pain.
It can coexist with pain.
It can even be powered by pain.
So the relationship needs to be understood properly.
Healing and Output Are Different Nervous System Jobs
One of the biggest mistakes I made was treating them as the same kind of work.
They aren’t.
Healing work is internal repair
Healing is primarily:
- decompression
- truth re-contact
- grief processing
- boundary formation
- releasing stored fear / anger / shame
- interrupting survival patterns
- learning to stop carrying what isn’t mine
It is not glamorous work.
It’s like structural repairs inside a building.
The outside might look quiet.
But inside, beams are being replaced.
Output work is external structure
Output is primarily:
- ordering chaos into clarity
- creating stable artefacts
- communicating patterns
- building frameworks
- contributing value
- stewarding insight into something usable
It is also costly — but in a different way.
It’s like building something that other people can walk into and use.
So when I’m in a healing phase and output drops, that isn’t failure.
It’s resource reallocation.
The Cycle: Healing → Integration → Expression → Consolidation → Healing
Over time I started noticing a repeating loop.
Not perfectly timed.
Not predictable like a machine.
But recognisable.
Phase 1 — Healing (Unburdening)
Purpose: reduce threat load and metabolise pain
Typical signs:
- emotional heaviness
- fatigue
- less mental sharpness
- more need for grounding
- less desire for public output
This is not laziness.
This is repair mode.
Phase 2 — Integration (Repatterning)
Purpose: practise boundaries in real life
Typical signs:
- feeling “weird” or guilty for not carrying others
- feeling tension when saying no
- fear spikes even when nothing is happening
- temptation to return to old roles
This is the phase where the old instincts fight back.
It’s where healing becomes embodied.
Phase 3 — Expression (Building)
Purpose: convert insight into artefacts and value
Typical signs:
- flow and tunnel focus
- strong clarity
- intense writing output
- system-building drive
- “I must get this out” energy
This phase feels powerful.
It also feels like purpose.
And in my case, it aligns with a long-standing internal sense:
I should do something far-reaching and significant.
Whether that output is recognised or not isn’t the point.
The point is that it exists.
Phase 4 — Consolidation (Stewardship)
Purpose: maintain without obsession
Typical signs:
- slower pace
- editing and refining
- strengthening foundations
- fewer new ideas, more grounding
- learning to live normally again
This phase is where the work becomes sustainable.
Then the cycle repeats.
Output Doesn’t Heal… But It Does Integrate Healing Into Reality
One of the most important clarifications I’ve had to make is this:
Writing books does not automatically resolve grief.
But output can still be deeply connected to healing because it can restore things that trauma disrupts:
- authorship: “I am not just reacting to life”
- agency: “I can build and finish”
- dignity: “I can contribute something real”
- meaning: “pain is not the end of the story”
- legacy: “this can outlive my mood and my fear”
There is a kind of stability that comes from meaningful work.
Not as avoidance.
As stewardship.
The “Proving Myself” Question: Clean vs Contaminated
I’ve also had to face the fact that output contains a “proving” component.
And the modern world often tries to flatten this into one moral category:
“You shouldn’t need to prove anything.”
But that isn’t realistic.
There is a healthy kind of proving.
And there is an unhealthy kind.
Healthy proving (clean)
This looks like:
- competence
- responsibility
- craftsmanship
- fruitfulness
- confidence built through reality
- contribution that speaks for itself
It’s essentially:
Let your work testify.
Unhealthy proving (contaminated)
This looks like:
- chasing approval as oxygen
- needing validation to feel safe
- trying to win a verdict from someone who won’t give it
- punishing yourself until you “earn peace”
This never ends.
The target always moves.
So the question isn’t “is proving present?”
The question is:
Does this output make me more free, or less free?
If it makes me more free, it is clean.
If it makes me less free, it’s a hook.
Why I “Collapse Back” Into Carrying Other People
When I stop actively healing, I often drift back into an old pattern:
I start carrying other people’s emotions.
Their stress becomes my stress.
Their instability becomes my responsibility.
And it’s confusing because caring about people isn’t wrong.
But what I’m describing isn’t normal compassion.
It’s an old survival role:
- “If I carry this, I prevent danger.”
- “If I feel their emotions, I can predict them.”
- “If I absorb the weight, I reduce conflict.”
- “If I over-function, I won’t be punished.”
So the goal isn’t to stop caring.
The goal is to care without absorption.
Help without self-erasure.
The Strange Weight of “Not Carrying”
One of the most revealing experiences is this:
Even when I stop absorbing other people’s emotions…
I still feel a burden.
But it’s a different burden:
It’s the burden of resisting the old role.
It’s withdrawal symptoms.
My nervous system expects punishment.
So it generates guilt and fear as a kind of alarm:
“You’re selfish now.”
But that alarm isn’t truth.
It’s conditioning.
It’s a sign that the pattern is being interrupted.
A Simple Weekly Rule That Helps
When I feel pulled between healing and output, I ask one question:
Am I creating from freedom, or from compulsion?
- If it’s freedom → build
- If it’s compulsion → slow down, regulate, return to truth
And when it’s mixed (which it often is):
I do small, steady output while protecting the healing work.
Not all-or-nothing.
Final Thought
The biggest shift I’ve had to make is this:
Healing is not “the pause” and output is not “the real life”.
They are both real life.
And the cycle itself is not a failure of consistency.
It is a sign of growth.
Because a stable life isn’t one that never changes phase.
A stable life is one where I can move through phases without collapsing.
And where both healing and output serve something deeper than fear.
If you are in a low-output season right now: it may not be laziness.
It may be repair mode.
And repair mode is not wasted time.
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